#none of this is her fault and i love her!
justanothercamilofan · 13 hours ago
gagi what if.. Camilo x Filipino!Reader... 😳😳😳 Wouldn't it be sweet to see them both show the similarities and differences in their culture? gageeee ToT <3
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best request ive ever gotten salamat talaga sa kung sino man nagrequest nito sana talaga masarap ulam niyo
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The moment you and your family arrived in Encanto, people immediately knew that you weren't from around here. The way you all dressed, the language you spoke... it was all foreign. The the town accepted you wholeheartedly despite the fact that none of you were Colombian.
Over the time, you eventually made some friends, most notably with a certain prankster. You and Camilo just... clicked with each other from the moment you two met.
"Nay, aalis po ako ng bahay! (Mom, I'm leaving the house.)" You yell out, but before you could exit the door, your tita stops you.
"Makikipagkita ka na naman sa lalaking yun, no? Gwapo naman, kasintahan mo ba? (You're meeting up with that boy again, aren't you? He's handsome, is he your boyfriend?)" She teases you. A blush spreads out on your face and you stutter out a bunch of words before giving her a clear answer. "Ay, tita, kaibigan ko lang po siya...(He's just my friend)"
The grin on her face is enough to tell you that she's not buying it. She sighs, shaking her head. " 'yan din sinabi ko nung nakilala ko Tito mo, tingnan mo kami ngayon. (That's what I used to say when I met your uncle, look at us now)." Your tita holds up her hand, revealing the ring on her finger.
You say nothing more than a simple goodbye before walking out.
"(Name)! Over here!" Camilo waves from a far. Your eyes lit up at sight of him, hurriedly making your way to him.
"Sorry, did I keep you waiting?"
He shakes his head. "For a few minutes, but it's fine."
"My tita stopped me before I could leave just so she could tease me." You say, chuckling.
Camilo raises a brow, "Oh? What'd she say?"
"Something about you being my boyfriend because we're always together." You respond and he laughs at this. "Ah, I know how that feels... Mi primas do the same thing."
"They tease you about me as well?"
Camilo nods, cheeks tinted pink. "But enough about that. I heard that there's a new shop in the plaza that sells amazing food, we should go check it out!"
You, of course, agreed to go with him. What kind of person turns away from good food anyway? "Libre mo? (Your treat?)" Camilo looks at you, confused. "What does that mean?" He asks and you giggle. "Is this your treat?" Your friend rolls his eyes, lightly elbowing you. "Fine, my treat."
The both of you burst into laughter as Camilo tells you one of his dumb jokes. You take a bite out of the snack he bought, and you hum in delight. Tama nga tatay mo, mas masarap ang pagkain pag libre. (Your dad was right, food tastes better when it's free.)
"Say, (name), do you and your family still eat Filipino dishes or snacks?" Camilo asks and you look at him like he's the dumbest person on earth. "Okay, jeez, don't answer that. Uh, what're your favorite foods then?"
Now that was a hard one. You have so many favorites, but which one did you like the most? Whatever, you'll just say the first thing that comes to mind.
"I really like rice."
"Don't you eat rice for every meal of the day?"
"I love (insert ur fave filo dish)! Oh, and also (another fave dish)! You've got to try them some time, Camilo! It's so... my mouth is watering at the thought of it!" You exclaimed, causing the boy to chuckle at your excitement.
"And chicharon! I just finished eating and now I'm starting to feel hungry again..."
Camilo stares at you, wide eyed. "You know what chicharrón is?" He asks. "Yes...? Is there something wrong with that?"
"If you had told me sooner I'd give you some! We had them yesterday!" He says. "Well it's not my fault we're having this conversation just now!" You reply, matching his energy.
You and Camilo look at each other for a few seconds before erupting into laughter.
"Okay, okay, I'm interested in your country. Since you've been exposed to mine, I think it's fair if you tell me about yours." Camilo states. You ponder, thinking of what to say.
"Ayun!" You snap your fingers. "We have this word in our language... It's engkanto. It's basically mythical environmental spirits that have the ability to appear in human form. Like, tikbalang for example... It's this human human horse hybrid!" You explain. "That sounds so cool but also creepy at the same time... Antonio would probably want to see one." He says, chuckling.
The both of you spend the next few hours just chatting about Filipino and Colombian culture, marking the similarities and it's differences. Camilo pointed at random things and asked you to translate it in your language and he'd do the same.
"What about cheese? How do you say that on Filipino?"
"Out of all the words you could think, you seriously chose cheese?"
"Yes, now tell me."
"Keso, but instead of a Q and U it's K." We don't have the letters C, F, J, Q, V, X, Z in our alphabet."
Camilo seemed really amused, it made you feel proud.
"Since you're really interested in this, how about coming over for dinner so you can have a taste of our food?" You suggested. The boy looked overjoyed, he happily accepted your invitation. Camilo trusted Dolores to tell the family for him.
"Oh and remember, never forget to bless to the elders. Pagmamano is really important. Just gently take their hand and place the back of it to your forehead."
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haitanix · 7 hours ago
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so what was i to you? // Part 2
part 1 / part 2
Bonten!Ran x reader
GENRE: angst
WARNINGS: none really
DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of these characters; the story is purely fictional and created from my imagination
TAGLIST: @xenefid @kipani-snow-25 @bontensbabygirl @des-tru6tion @hell-temptations @mitsuyaswifeey @sunnydino @trashmemebitch @bontenacious @cursedlove37 @sh4nn @no-name-jack @q-the-rockaholic @a-cherry-blossoms @samceyy @raiiny-night @holytrinixty @imthebiggestsimp @sunnydino @kaeyaphilia @little-mad-queen-626 @angelmitsuri @sassyglassesbunny (if someone wants to be added to the taglist please do reply!)
It wasn't his fault, it was yours, you thought.
You never learn, do you?
Every guy is the same, right?
All they do is cheat and lie but are quick to sweettalk their way right back. Not every time it works, but with you it did. You were just a pawn on his chess board, yet he somehow made you believe you were his one and only. You lived in such a bubble until reality came crashing down that day at his office. Well it was now one year since then. You moved away right after leaving the apartment and with that the life you knew too. New number, new address, new look. Yeah some things did change, you dyed your hair, moved to the country side and of course you gave birth to your beautiful baby boy. It wasn’t easy at first. The fact that you were pregnant with all of the things happening affected you majorly. Pregnant women should avoid unnecessary stress at all cost, but he was the reason for every ounce of stress in your body. Nevertheless, you didn’t want to see his face or hear his name ever again. You decided you could do this one on your own, hence moving farther away from him as you could, a peaceful place where no one knew you and you didn't know anyone. A perfect start to a new life you would think. You got a small job in the town’s flower store. It wasn't much but it paid the bills that needed to be paid. It was owned by an old lady who was very generous to give you the job upon request, seeing you were in need. She even helped when you were going through labor and even now helps you take care of Ryo. Ryo, a fitting name you thought. It meant “exceed. survive. excel”, and he for sure was the reason you kept moving forward with a smile on your face once again.
You have to admit, as much as your time was filled with other responsibilities now, you would be lying if you said your thoughts didn't shift to him from time to time. Was there a chance he changed? You did subconsciously hoped for one.
In all honesty, you didn't even know what you exactly expected after you dropped that bomb and left. Did you hope that he would chase after you? That he would beg you to stay and feed you with more lies from those sweet lips of his? A broken relationship trying to be mended just because you both created a life together? No definitely not. But in all honesty I guess you did want him to do something, anything, just to show that there was still even an ounce of him that actually cared and meant when he said he loved you.
It's better this way, you thought.
Time passed and your little boy grew up. He is still just a kid but he would claim he’s a big boy now. ‘’I’ll protect and take care of you momma’’, he would remind you day by day.
You never had a talk with him and he never wondered why he had no father figure. All he knew were you and grandma. He was aware, the old lady wasn’t his actual family by blood but he grew to love her.
One particular day while you were working, a young man which you didn’t recognize entered the flower shop.
‘’May I ask for your advice ma’am? I had a certain argument with my wife and am looking for the perfect flowers to gift her along with my apology’’, he said you recalled.
‘’Well you are on the right track sir’’, you smiled at the customer, ‘’every feeling is best expressed with flowers, apologies included’’.
‘’I would definitely recommend the white orchids, they should represent sincerity and that should be perfect to convey a heartfelt apology’’
‘’Is that so?’’, the man came closer to exam the flowers you were pointing out. ‘’Well then, I will be buying all of them you have in your shop, if that’s okay’’
His words took you by surprise for a second but you didn’t want to seem out of place, so you quickly brushed it off and hurried to complete the man’s request.
‘’Of course, no problem at all sir’’, you replied politely
Going back home you were still thinking about that odd encounter at the shop but whatever at the end of the day it earned a lot of profit. As you came back to your house you felt a bit odd.
‘’I’m back’’, you announced while putting your shoes to the side. As you were doing so you saw a pair of male shoes which was pretty odd. ‘’Why would there be-‘’, your heartbeat started raising way to fast, you thought you would have a heart attack right there right now as you sprinted to the living room. As you came to see the scene in front of you, you were right to be feeling the way you did.
‘’Momma, momma’’, Ryo rushed to you, hugging you immediately. ‘’This man just came a few minutes ago claiming he was momma’s friend and he even brought flowers for you momma’’
‘’Ryo go into your room-‘’, your voice was shaky but you couldn’t let your little boy notice that
‘’but, but-‘’, he tried bargaining with you
‘’Now Ryo-‘’, you didn’t let him say another word, you didn’t want to raise your tone but there was no way you let him be in the same room as the man in front of you, more than he already has.
Ryo rushed to his room a little bit upset and closed the door behind him.
‘’What the fuck are you doing here Haitani?’’, you glared at him immediately
‘’Ouch- last name basis huh?’’, Ran could obviously not help but be cocky even in situation like these
‘’Get the fuck out now.’’, you didn’t even want to let him speak any further just looking at him right now made you combust with anger. The images from that day crawling back no matter how hard you worked on discarding them completely.
‘’Y/N look, I want us to work things out. He deserves a father figure in his life too. I want to help you-‘’, Ran insisted but you quickly cut him off.
‘’Well aren’t you a few years too late. You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to crawl back into our lives with some flowers as a makeshift apology and think all is well.’’, You spat.
‘’Please love, hear me out. I really want to change for you and Ryo.’’
‘’Don’t, don’t even dare and say his name again and don’t you call me love, you don’t have the right to. He is the only reason I pushed through. And where were you at the beginning, huh? Fucking someone else, tch, wouldn’t even be surprised. You have no idea how much pain I went through in the year long period after I left. It was hell on earth, but what would you know. You who had everything handed to him huh? You couldn’t be faithful to a single woman and had to resort to side pleasure. You make me sick.’’, one after another your sentences were bullets aiming to hit.
‘’Insult me as much as you want, hit me if you must, hurt me in whatever way you wish, let all your anger out Y/N’’, he moved closer to you, his body telling him so as he fell down on his knees in front of you.
‘’You- you-‘’, you wanted to hate him so much, you wanted to hurt him as much as he hurt you but you weren’t like him. No. You couldn’t make yourself do such things, even if it was twisted you still somehow loved this man. Your legs betrayed you and you fell to your knees right next to him.
He moved closer to you and immediately took the opportunity to hug you tightly. You started fidgeting in his hold wanting to escape it so badly but his grips just tightened even more. And suddenly the walls you’ve been building around your heart came crushing and tumbling down, that was your breaking point.
A loud sob escaped you as you started punching at his chest. He endured it all because he knew he deserved every bit of your rage.
And all the ‘’I hate yous’’ suddenly came to a stop as the only thing now to be heard are your sniffles.
‘’Why Ran? Why did you have to do it? Did I deserve that? Was I not enough? Is there something wrong with me? All I ever did was love you, was that my reward for it?’’
Ran was speechless for a moment, he knew this was not something simple words could fix but he wanted to try whatever other way would.
‘’No- you were way too perfect and I-‘’, he felt the pain in his chest for the first time. The man who didn’t care about anything, to whom a human life didn’t have any value since he could take it away without a second though. That same man now found himself caring for a woman and tearing up as he holds her in his arms.
‘’Please don’t give me that it’s not you, it’s me, I’m really not that shallow to take it anymore’’, you sniffled.
‘’You’re right’’, he breathed out and bit down on his lower lip, ‘’You deserve better, and I promise you now that I will show you that I truly regret my decisions with actions and not words, because words mean nothing unless they have something to back them up’’, his chin was now on top of your head, if he could pull you to his chest even more he would.
‘’Look me in the eyes Ran and promise me again you’ll be a better man, a man Ryo can look up to in the future and not the man he’ll be ashamed of’’
He slowly moved away from you, his gaze fell upon you, you can see a spark in his eyes, he was really determined this time. ‘’I promise and if I slip up I’ll let Rin have my head on a stick’’, he lowly chuckled thinking it would lift up the mood. What he didn’t expect is a soft smile suddenly decorating your face, and god how he wished he would see that sight every day from now.
‘’That’s all I needed to hear, I’ll hold onto that'', you spoke once again
‘’Don’t let us down this time’’
But an already rotten man with his despicable ways can't change much and we are back at where we started.
You never learn, do you?
Many of your requested I do part 2 for my story ''so what was i to you'' and here it is. I cant say this is one of my favorite works mainly because I never intended to make a second part I wanted to leave a story with an open ending giving yall a chance to imagine the outcome as you wished instead of making a definite ending which might not be to some of yalls liking or not something you expected.
But either way I hope you do enjoy!
Until next time :)
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angeli-marco-writes · 9 hours ago
Chris Evans - The Intern
A/N & WC - I know absolutely fuck all about American politics, other than what’s in the news and in RWRB: I’m British. However I read a TikTok comment that said ‘[in D.C.] it’s an open secret that Chris Evans regularly hooks up with 20 y/o congressional interns when he’s here promoting his foundation,’ and I obviously don't know if this is true or false, but this idea spawned. This is kinda coworkers to lovers/boss&employee to lovers/she hates him he loves her to lovers? I specify reader's height and education but feel free to change it in your head because I just did what worked with this idea, which is fictional. I do not know Chris, nor do I claim to. This is first and foremost a work of fiction. I don't consent to this being posted elsewhere. 12.5k.
Warnings - Chris sleeping with people half his age, politics, bisexual!tall!reader, mild harrassment kinda: Chris keeps pursuing reader when she declines, alcohol consumption, fuckboy behaviour, smut: degradation kink, praise kink, 'Mr' and 'Miss' in bed, slight anal play, oral f rec, protected sex, fingering, slight dom!reader & sub!chris, sort of tattoo kink. 18+ only
Summary - Mr Evans has been trying to get you to sleep with him since he first met you on your internship, yet not a single visit has gone by without him asking you out for drinks, even though you decline each time. But maybe you’re just a little inclined to find out more about how the elusive Mr Evans gets away with breaking so many interns hearts, and maybe you’ll test whether yours can stay intact. Drinks and Mr Evans' natural charm could have you falling faster and harder than you'd realised you could.
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AS UNFORTUNATE AS IT MAY SEEM, you can’t remember a single visit from the ASP founders occurring without at least one broken heart. Every single time.
You tell them every time that it’s their own damn fault, that they knew the repercussions when bouncing head first into what was always going to be a one night stand, yet every intern in the office did it anyway. But that niggling part of your mind remains unanswered, and that just won’t stand, not with junior finals as well as one of the biggest political campaigns of your lifetime coming up.
And the visit is this weekend.
Every visit thus far, you’ve also been hit on a minimum of twice. Usually just by one guy, but if it’s anyone else, he makes sure to scare them off just to keep you for himself. You’ve never let him, of course. His reputation of sleeping with (and subsequently ghosting) every intern between 18 and 22 in the entire campaign office is hard to believe and yet incredibly veritable, which makes it all the more disgraceful.
So why is your interest piqued at the thought of some mediocre straight-cis white man who decides he likes politics when he barely scraped a high school GED and didn’t even attend college?
Lord only knows, but you’d like to get to the bottom of it before finals, and before another heart is broken and the campaign is knocked for six.
A smiley, blonde lady no older than 25 beams up at you from the secretary’s desk. “He’ll see you now.”
You adjust a singular pin in your hair, fight the urge to bring your thumb up to your lips, and grip your folder tighter. The office doors open of their own accord, or perhaps the smiley-secretary just pressed a button, but either way, you can hear your heels echoing on the expensive, marble-effect laminate floor that costs probably as much to properly maintain as your yearly college fees.
And there he is, behind a huge sprawling desk that isn’t even his, but that he’s just borrowing for the weekend. The chair, orthopedically designed for the lumbar support of your boss, is currently kicked back fully and is being lounged in by none other than the heart-breaker himself, hands loosely slung behind his head, and his feet up on the thousand-dollar oak desk.
Deep breaths, y/n. Deep breaths.
“Miss y/l/n!” he exclaims, “always a pleasure.”
“I ran those numbers for you, Mr Evans.”
He kicks his feet off the desk, and deigns to straighten his posture for you, a lazy—very unprofessional—smile toying on his lips, half hidden by his close-cropped beard.
“Thank you,” he tells you, voice low, but he hesitates, “you didn’t have to bring them to me, you know.”
“Well, I thought it would be more efficient since it’s been a whole”—I very ostentatiously check my wrist, glimmering with the vintage Cartier watch I saved up for a whole year to buy—“five hours since you requested them, and you haven’t yet been to collect them.” Or hit on any of the barely-legal interns. “And I called Barnaby’s office for you. He says he’s in, and I wrote down what he said, verbatim.”
You take a single step closer to his desk, forgoing a seat on one of the very uncomfortable square things your boss insists on keeping around, and hand him a thick file with a note written in neat, blue-ink shorthand paperclipped on the top.
His blue eyes flicker over your face as he takes them, but you don’t meet his gaze, and make sure he knows that.
“You’re very efficient, Miss y/l/n.”
“Thank you,” you respond, aiming to school your voice into a neutral tone, but when his Bostonian accent takes over, it’s increasingly difficult to keep a straight face.
You know the effect he has on girls, on women, on men, even, but this is something else entirely. You won’t cream your pants just because he shoots you a wry, roguish smile, and you won’t drop everything just to sleep with him. But there is something indescribable and magnetic about him that makes him a very attractive man.
Nonetheless, there are two Mr Evans’. There the suit-clad man sat before you here, playing politician and getting some sick kick out of it. And the other, more well known Mr Evans, with the tattoos and the dirty jokes. He’s a dichotomy to say the least.
“Come, sit. Let’s chat.”
“Actually, I’d rather not, thank you, I have work to do.”
He laughs, deep and pure and warm. It echoes off the walls, off the poor excuse for art strung upon said walls, off the window panes, and hits straight to that spot in the back of your brain that needs to be shut up. Of course.
“Don’t we all?” he jokes. “Just for five minutes.”
You concede, taking a step around the chairs and positioning yourself very carefully down in one. Pencil skirts and stockings are not ideal for chairs as low down as these. You tug at the edges of your blazer once settled, cross your legs at the ankles, mindful of your high heels, and look at him with your carefully perfected, political-intern, people-pleasing smile.
“What are you now, a senior?” he inquires.
“Junior,” you tell him, “I’m just tall.”
He laughs again, this time smaller, and places his elbow right on top of your neatly handwritten note. A shockwave of annoyance ripples through you.
“Georgetown. Poli-sci.”
“And why did you choose to become a congressional intern?” he asks, intrigue lacing his words.
You roll your eyes, sighing a fraction—as much as is allowed in your high-necked cream blouse. “Is this for your damn website? Because if it is...”
“Just for me,” he explains, and leans over on his desk, papers rustling as his tie knocks them. “I’m interested.”
“Um, well, I’ve always been active in politics, and I have a strong moral compass...” Unlike someone.
“No, no, no.” He stops you, and the air is knocked from your lungs. “Why did you choose to do this?”
This is possibly the first time you’ve genuinely been asked that question, because the real answer isn’t exactly interview friendly.
“Because I’m tired of the way LGBTQ+ youth, and adults, are treated, and this campaign is, in my mind, the best way to make a wider difference, due to both the legal activism and the queer charity support it offers, but on more topics than just queer rights, because the anti-discriminatory policies within this campaign are the best I’ve seen. The anti-racism initiatives, the anti-ableism laws, working against age-old prejudices within this country: I believe we can move forwards into a more accepting world. I believe the future of politics lies here, and I didn’t want to waste time at a New England college when I could be working here whilst getting my degree, and kick start my future while making a difference.”
There’s a brief note of silence, a rustle from outside, footsteps on the faux-marble floor. And then Mr Evans leans back in his chair, fingers straying to his tie while you sit there knotting your fingers together, and he releases a long breath of air.
“And that’s why you’re my favourite intern, and possibly the best in this whole office. Your passion is... unrivalled.” Heat begins to crawl its way up your cheeks as you cross your legs at the knee, your pink tweed skirt pulling a little. “Tell me, are you getting college credit for your internship here?”
You shake your head ‘no’, and have to push a pin back into your hair as it becomes dislodged with the slight movement. You don’t miss the way his eyes follow your every move.
“That changes now. Let me make some calls. With your hard work here and your undoubtedly perfect GPA, I don’t see why this shouldn’t help you graduate summa cum laude and make you valedictorian, if that’s something you’re interested in?”
Only the dream!
“Thank you, Mr Evans, I don’t know what to say... but you really don’t have to do that...”
“Except I do,” he says, voice low with authority, eyes darkening as he meets your gaze across the desk. He’s normally shorter than you, so feeling his looming presence is a change, “because you’re the best intern here, and you deserve more recognition for that.”
“I—” you find yourself stumbling for something to say other than the obvious exercise in futility, but nothing comes. “Thank you, Mr Evans. So much.”
He nods, lips pursed, and picks up a pen, scribbling something on the piece of paper atop the folder you gave him. This, apparently, is your cue to leave.
He stands as you do, and this time, comes around the side of his desk to stand by your side. The sick pleasure you gain from being taller than him now is just that, sick, but he needs knocking down a peg or two. Or ten. Perhaps even the number of notches on his bedpost, but by then he’d be buried underground. However, you must concede that what he’s doing for you is incredible, so even his womanising ways can’t be held above this good deed he’s doing. He might be a fuck-boy, but he’s got a heart of gold, and the means to make dreams come true.
“Thank you again, Mr Evans, and anything you need doing while you’re here, I’m your girl.”
He takes a wide stride to open the door for you. “Aren’t you just.”
His smile, while you expect it to be smarmy, is warm and grateful, maybe even genuine.
“Let me walk with you.”
So you do, and feel his hand brushing yours, the coldness of his rings contrasting the flush of your body, his pinky finger briefly knotting around your own as you walk, side by side, in silence, throughout the office.
“Actually...” he begins once we reach your designated area.
He leans his elbow against your screen, crossing his legs at the ankle in an attempt to look casually suave. That doesn’t work on the same faux-marble laminate floor that spans the area: it’s too squeaky.
“I can offer you two options... a pile of work that only you are capable of completing to a high enough standard, which you will get full credit for, or you can come for a drink with me. Tonight. No strings attached... but you have to wear that suit.”
Even with everything he’s doing for you, you don’t owe him anything, least of all a drink which will undoubtedly lead to mediocre sex. That’s the way it’s been with every other intern in the place for the past 3 years, and you won’t suffer the way they were all stupid enough to.
“Thanks, but I’ll take the work. I’m far better at it,” you say, forcing a smile that doesn’t quite meet your eyes.
He stands and straightens out in concession, “I’ll have my secretary bring it over to you, and I’ll come check on you before the days out, cool?”
“Like a cucumber.”
His presence looms over you as he hovers momentarily, expectant, perhaps, but within a minute he’s walking back along the corridor, the swagger in his stride audible from his Brogues. While you dig into some work on the computer, awaiting the files Mr Evans is sending over for you, you catch a glimpse of his face, as though he cast a final, longing glance back over his shoulder at you.
Of course he didn’t, you correct yourself. He did a good deed. Don’t fall for his trap.
But does it have to be a trap? Even someone with a reputation like Mr Evans could be genuine and kind without an ulterior motive. And maybe you shouldn’t have said no to that drink…
That’s when the pile of work lands on your desk with a thud, a gust of air hitting your face as blondie drops it down.
“Mr Evans says to call him with any questions. His cell number is on the top of the file.”
It’s a good job he’s given you his cell because, judging by this pile of work, you won’t be done in time for drinks, anyway. You shed your pink blazer, pinning together one of the pearl buttons as you drape it over your bag. Only you are capable of completing to a high enough standard… he’d said. If you believe that, and don’t look for the layers of flirtation and pleading beneath his words, you’ll be okay with rejecting what must be his hundredth offer of a drink with him. You won’t be another one of Mr Evans’ congressional intern hook ups. Mind over matter, right?
Mr Evans’s eyes are glued to you as you strut through the office, coffee in one hand, book in the other. It’ll be good to get ahead in an elective for once, even if you can’t pay attention to a single word scribbled on the page due to his piercing blue gaze fixed on your hips, your back, your legs, your neck, you.
He’s never tried to hide his watching you before, but this time feels strangely intimate. You have to clear your throat to regain some semblance of composure once you reach your desk, closing your book. It takes everything in you not to let your eyes flit up to where he’s sitting with his secretary. Some strange part of you hopes he’s watching your every move: logging onto the system, stacking your files, pulling out your pen, hanging up your coat…
The white of the marble, the blue of his eyes, the red of your suit. How fitting.
You know what you’re like, and you’re fully aware of what you do. You’re most men’s fantasy, in pencil skirts and frilly blouses and stockings. It’s an awful pity you have virtually zero interest in any of them. Except maybe this one, who, from the first day you met, hasn’t even tried to hide what he thinks of how you look and how you dress. A few moments stand out:
That time you showed up in a red, white and blue combination for the election, and Mr Evans physically groaned, tossing his head back, and held a folder over his groin the entire day.
The yellow ensemble—sunshine yellow—and possibly the only time he hasn’t left the congressional offices with an intern after telling you that you looked like sunshine, and you were the only sunshine he needed.
But perhaps your first meeting has the alacrity to stick in your mind for so long. And that one's on you. When a 6-foot-tall man with arms the size of your head, a close cropped beard and wearing a suit that fits a little too well, it’ll even get your fem-leaning bisexual engine going a little. You’re pretty sure most of the men in the office, gay or otherwise, had their engines revving for him when he laughed like that, and paid minute attention to each and every single person when he spoke to them. You’re all important to him, which is what’s so incredible, not that you’ll ever confess to having thought that.
But then he came over to see the interns, asked each and every one of you your name, your reason for being here, and shook your hands, offering a kiss to each of your cheeks. But something about his attention to you felt... different. It was obvious he was trying to get into everyone’s pants, but his eyes snagged on you, and instead of his office-appropriate smiles he beamed at you, and introduced himself as Chris, alongside insisting on calling you Miss y/l/n, because apparently you’re the most efficient one in the office. It’s good to know he still thinks that.
“That dress looks stunning on you, by the way. Props for dressing like this is an actual office and not a free for all,” he whispered gruff in your ear, sneaking a wink as he pulled away, glancing down at the navy number that pinched in at the waist and fell to your kneecaps as though perfectly tailored for you, paired with an emerald green blazer.
He has a point: people will come straight from college in their God-damn pyjama bottoms and no one will say anything. Of course you’re all for comfort and wearing what you please, but President Biden could come around any day, and they’d look like that. It was the first time you’d been seen, though, since most of the time people think you’re funny for dressing this way to go to work, and oftentimes college as well. But you’re at a top college studying one of the most competitive majors, while working as an intern 5 days a week: forgive you if you’d like to dress like it. It was just... nice, to be seen by Mr Evans.
Then he hit on you for half an hour before you point blank told him not in this lifetime, but he’s never stopped fawning over you. Perhaps until yesterday…
He didn’t even try to flirt after you rejected his offer for drinks in order to do work, and today, there’s not a single broken heart around the office, and he’s been in the office since apparently 8am. That’s never happened before.
Your heart begins to stutter strangely in your chest, driving you to place a hand over your sternum, swallowing thickly. Then…
“Morning, Miss Y/l/n. Did you get that work done for me?”
Think of the devil and he shall appear, ice-mint and whiskey breath, freshly pressed suit and tie, authority and looming presence.
“I’m almost done, just one section left,” you explain, eyes focussed on your screen.
“On my desk in an hour.”
Your eyes flutter shut, your red-stained lip drawn between your teeth. “On it, Sir.”
But he doesn’t leave like you expect him to, but instead just lingers, his breathing shallow. He watches as you open the server and create a fresh document and spreadsheet, pasting in the same titles you’ve used for every other section within the file he gave you yesterday. With your fountain pen, you begin to jot down notes in your neat shorthand, but Mr Evans is still there, apparently reading over your shoulder. A sigh escapes your lips before you straighten up.
“May I help you Mr Evans?” you ask politely.
“No…” he trails off, “I just wondered how you work, what brings your efficiency out, and apparently me being around is a distraction.”
You scoff a little, tapping the end of your pen on the desk rhythmically, in time with the tap of your heels. “Don’t flatter yourself. But, if you’d like to watch me, feel free to pull up a chair.”
He hums and ahhs for a moment before reaching for a rolling chair from a nearby cubicle, and positioning himself behind you.
“I do like to watch.”
“Hmm, I bet you do.”
With the proximity, he can’t have missed the way your lips curl into a threatening smirk. You meticulously chose the shade of your lipstick to match the scarlet of your wide-leg, high-waist trouser-suit for today.
“You don’t usually wear makeup,” he observes curiously, his voice a semitone lower than his previous flirtatious statement.
“Not usually, but I do like lipstick. It makes an outfit that much more striking.”
His slow exhale carries a slight whistle, and, if the creak of his chair is anything to go by, he’s leaning back with a casual air, and manspreading. You’re a simple woman: manspreading on a man like Mr Evans is always attractive, hence why it’s so hard to keep your focus on your work all of a sudden, even more so when he says, “You can say that again, fucking hell…”
A laugh bubbles up your throat, but you don’t let him hear it as you get your head down and work. Your college work for the semester is almost done and, Mr Evans was right yesterday, you have an untarnished 4.0 GPA, so you’ve not got too much to worry about, especially not if you’re going to be receiving college credit for the hours upon hours you’ve spent as a congressional intern since your move to D.C.
You’re finished with your work within the hour and move onto something else whether noticed or not, and other than the occasional squeak of shoes on the marble-style flooring, or the creak of his chair as he clears his throat, you’re mostly unaware of Mr Evans’ looming presence behind you. You can’t say the same for your sense of smell though, his cologne slowly moving from being an attack on your nostrils to being a pleasant warm hug, though unusual all the same.
You push your chair out from beneath your desk and curl a loose strand of hair behind your ear.
“Mr Evans? It’s elevenses, can I get you anything from the kitchenette? That is, provided you still want to supervise me now I’ve finished those files you asked for.”
You pick them up with an unmanicured hand, and dump them lightly in his lap, startling him from his slouched position. He’s definitely too relaxed for work. No wonder he thinks you’re the most efficient if this is how he himself works.
“Shit, you’re fast. I’ll grab coffee and a donut thanks. And yes, I will be supervising you.”
You don’t even bother to ask why because he won’t have formulated an answer just yet, and if you were to ask it you couldn’t ask it too quickly, too repeatedly, or even too slowly, because one thing you’ve learnt over the past few years with your congressional office working closely with ASP, Mr Evans gets very easily confused and flustered, and would undoubtedly just blurt out some shite along the lines of ‘to spend time with you’ which is borth cringey and uncalled for, not to mention completely false and just another attempt to get into your pants. He does that all the time with the other interns, and for some reason, they all fall for it—quite literally: they fall at his feet. You can tell by the state of their knees the next day—almost as bad as their hearts. Your knees are so used to being in heels that they quite possibly couldn’t cope with such a thing.
What a good thing you’re a top…
Nope, eject those thoughts, and just get Mr Evans the donut he wants—jam and sugared, as you’ve somehow discovered over time—and his coffee—black.
You turn on your heel and begin to strut back to your cubicle when one of Mr Evans’ ex-conquests suddenly appears in front of you, blonde hair falling in reams around her shoulders, still wearing… last night’s party dress apparently, with an oversized sweatshirt and air forces. It’s a look, most certainly, but your mind flutters back to Mr Evans’ comment on the first day. ‘Props for dressing like this is an actual office and not a free for all.’
And then she’s speaking to you for the first time since you told her she was stupid to sleep with Mr Evans considering he’s 1– kind of their boss, and 2– a notorious playboy and heartbreaker. She doesn’t seem to care about your honesty right now, though.
“Oh my God, why is Mr Evans sitting at your desk? Did you finally give in to him?” she inquires.
You scoff, but secure your hold around your coffees and donuts nonetheless. “What? No. Why would I?”
“No reason,” she hums, “you just look real cosy.”
“He’s supervising me, apparently.” You roll your eyes, but don’t miss her performative lip-bite.
“I reckon he likes you, y’know.”
“Well that’d be nice if I was even remotely interested,” you say, you assume honestly, so why does it feel like a weight has sunk to the very pit of your stomach. It definitely isn’t because you’ve said that very line to yourself so many times that it’s second nature to say it even if it isn’t entirely correlated to your true feelings… is it?
“It doesn’t matter if you’re interested. He’s really good in bed. Maybe you’d lighten up a little.”
And with that she walks off. That was nice, you think to yourself, and shake away the cobwebs as you deliver a half-asleep Mr Evans his coffee and donut. You’re not sure why half the interns are here other than a straight white man who runs this place, because you seem to be the most politically inclined and politically minded congressional intern in this place. Of course the others like being here, and are passionate about the cause, as proven by their dedication whenever elections roll around.
“Thanks, baby,” he whispers, thankfully grabbing them from you, and gulping down his coffee while it’s still scalding hot, but that doesn’t seem to bother him. The name he just let slip also doesn’t seem to bother him, if he even noticed. You pointedly ignore it.
“Late night?” you inquire as you take a large stride over him and land elegantly in your chair, crossing your legs.
“Early start,” he responds, but doesn’t meet your eyes with his crystal gaze. “Why?”
“You seem tired. More so than usual when you have your late nights.”
He arches one thick eyebrow over his forehead, “You know about those?”
“Oh my God. Literally, oh my fucking Lord above, Chris.” Possibly the first time you’ve ever called him by his first name, but that’s not important right now as you push ahead. “You shag half the women in the office—mainly interns who are way too young for you, I might add, and you don’t expect me and the entirety of D.C. to notice? It’s every single fucking time you visit!”
“Don’t swear at me, young lady,” he threatens: voice low and demanding.
That’s rich, considering you’re older now than half the interns were when he slept with them, in your early twenties.
You slam your coffee down indignantly, though careful none splashes onto your very expensive, very nice, scarlet trouser suit which you love very much. “Or what? What are you going to do, Chris? Fire me? Sleep with me? Because news flash, you can’t do either of those things. You may wear the big man pants and sit in the office all high and mighty, but you’re just another sad, rich, straight, white man thinking he can make a difference in politics because he’s bored, okay? Sometimes it amazes me, literally astonishes me with each visit, that Taylor Swift didn’t write her ten minute All Too Well about you, because you should probably stop sleeping with people half your age, especially when you—apparently—have a girlfriend—who is also more than a decade too young for you.” Once you finally stop for breath, you notice that perhaps your voice was a little louder than you had prior intended since half the office is staring at you, and Chris is gaping open-mouthed, utterly disbelieving apparently. He knows how feisty you can be: you’ve turned him down what must be over fifty times now. But this? This is a direct attack. Then again, he has no power over you. Absolutely none. You’re not just going to submit to him because he acts like a big man in a suit—he has no fucking idea the privilege he holds just from being the man he is, and was born as. But that’s the problem: your attack is so personal, and is mostly centred around his fuck-boy ways. They can't bother you, they simply can’t, it’s a statistical impossibility. But when you look at him, eyes wide, lips parted, a hand running through his beard… it might not be. Which is horrifying, you might add. Lord above only knows what STDs a man with his reputation is carrying, the thought alone sending a shiver rippling down your spine.
He stands up, his muscular frame straining in his shirt and blazer as he unfastens the button with one hand. His eyes glue to the floor. “I think I’ll leave you to it. Thank you for the work, and the coffee, Miss y/l/n.”
And with that, he leaves. Mr Evans is many things, but resigned has never been one of them, so you must’ve struck a nerve. It’s not that he didn’t deserve any of it, and he has needed to be put in his place for a long time, but you could probably have gone about it in a different way.
However, Mr Evans acting like a butt-hurt predator isn’t going to stop you from working, so you get your head down for the rest of the day.
You seem to be even more productive when you’ve got guilt, or some similar emotion, crawling up your neck. By the end of the day you’re finished with almost twice what you’d usually get done. As everyone else begins to file out, you grab your bag and sling your coat over one arm, leaving your cubicle with all of your work in your spare arm.
Before your brain can quite catch up, your knuckles are knocking on Mr Evans’ unmanned door, inwardly praying that he’s still here.
“Come in,” he calls.
One deep breath later, your heels are clicking on the marble laminate floor and you’re placing the files on his desk, and words are falling from your mouth.
“I’m really sorry about earlier, Mr Evans. I was out of line, and I shouldn’t have taken my personal vendetta against you out in the office: that wasn’t fair. And as for what I said…”
“Don’t apologise for that,” he says, a note of authority in his voice, “you’re right on all accounts. And even if the office wasn’t the most objectively ideal place to have that confrontation, I’m glad it happened. But please, let me take you for a drink—as friends, no strings attached―to make it up to you. But you have to wear that suit.” Almost verbatim what he said to you yesterday.
A chuckle rises to your throat, and all in a flurry, your head feels a little lighter than before.
“I’ll go for a drink with you.” It’s high time you did, and maybe he’s very, very different off the clock, and you owe him this after, well, destroying his reputation with those in the office who weren’t aware of his womanising reputation. “But I won’t wear the suit, hard pass.” You also decidedly elect not to tell him you won’t wear the suit because the only very skimpy underwear you own that doesn’t show a VPL in these trousers has been riding up your arse crack all afternoon. “I will, however, wear the lipstick and the heels.”
His head lolls over the back of the chair, his tongue hanging out in a very dog-like manner. The groan he emits, however, is more feral.
“Done, done, and done,” he agrees with an incredible amount of enthusiasm, and a pearly-white smile peeking through his beard. “Shall I send a car to pick you up? Or I can drive you?”
“Thank you, Mr Evans, but I’m okay to meet you there provided you send me through the name of the bar. Okay?”
“Y– yeah…” he trails off, “yeah, okay. Seven?”
A smirk is painted on your red lips as you turn on your heel to exit, “I’ll see you there.”
Only once you’re outside and away from him do you realise the gravity of what you just agreed to. Why the fuck are you going out for a drink with Mr Evans? He’s the founder of ASP, yes, which is very cool, but he’s also just some horny, stoner actor who, shock horror, doesn’t have a vagina. This is… something else. Maybe it means the stupid fluttering in your lower belly will stop once you shut this down once and for all as friends, because you refuse to be another one of Mr Evans’ interns.
The champagne satin of your cocktail dress glitters even in the dim light of the up-scale bar Mr Evans selected for you, but despite the calibre of the place, you have to be very careful not to get any spilled drinks on your very expensive red-bottom heels.
Mr Evans is already at the bar, dressed down in slim-fitting jeans and a black henley, a blazer-style leather jacket slung over the bar stool to his immediate left.
Your heels on the lino alert him to my presence, and he’s springing up in an instant, arms open wide in an embracing gesture. He meets you, holds your arms in a weird half hug, and presses a kiss to your ever-warming cheek.
“Hey…” you say, your eyes avidly scanning him, though for what, you’re unsure.
“Hey yourself.” He chuckles. “You look stunning. What can I get you?”
“Oh! Thank you. Um, just a tonic water is fine.”
He orders for you, sweeps his jacket up, and follows you to a table, except he doesn’t sit down, and just keeps staring at you. Your brows must furrow at some point, because the next thing you know, he’s asking;
“How tall are you?”
So that’s what this is about. You pull your chair up and slide onto the seat. “I’m not sure. Five ten, five eleven? Probably closer to the latter.”
“And how tall are those shoes?”
“Which is?”
“Four and a half inches, ish. Could be more.”
“Jesus Christ…”
“Why, Evans? Intimidated by a woman taller than you?” you ask, smirking.
He growls almost, a guttural, visceral noise that you haven’t heard possibly ever as he takes a seat, “Take those heels off, then we’ll see who’s boss.”
“Hmm, well, considering you’re technically my boss, yet you’ll more than willingly fall at my whim, I’d say that’s me,” your voice drops to a whisper, “heels or not.”
He all but falls onto his chair groaning at this point, and your smirk is one of sly success.
You make small talk over your drinks, and while he asks you about college and your life here in D.C., you inquire about his acting and his life up in New England. It’s benign, all of it, which is a slight disappointment considering how much you were looking forward to tearing him down upon the slightest pique of interest. But he’s genuinely being friendly, professional, and this isn’t the Mr Evans you know. It’s off putting.
You talk for a little while, and both order another round, chairs gravitating closer to one another, strangely. At some point, his ring-clad hand finds your thigh, likely when you’re laughing at one of his admittedly truly funny anecdotes. His presence is genuinely nice, and for the first time, you can see why all the other girls fell for his tricks if he’s this suavely charming with them all. There’s still something strange that you can’t put your finger on, and when a natural lull in the conversation occurs, your mind screams at you to ask the question you’ve been putting off all evening, and the true reason you came out tonight.
So why put it off any longer? You came here for one reason and one reason only, and now you’ve finished your second round, this seems like the perfect time to ask.
“Why do you sleep with all the interns? I mean you’re old. Not, like, old old, but we’re half your age, Mr Evans.”
He takes a deep sigh, passing his empty glass between both hands on the tabletop. “Chris, please. And I’m not entirely sure I want to tell you that.”
“Why not? And, as a forewarning, ‘because I want to’ isn’t a good enough reason.”
“To get your attention, okay?!”
Fucking hell, he was right not to tell you. Of course you knew he was interested in you, but you’d thought it was just a male thing, a power thing, an ego thing, how he can get every young woman in the office to fall at his feet except you, and he won’t stop until you’re one of them too. But this? This is a… feelings thing.
“You’re joking, right?” you scoff, suddenly in dire need of alcohol to kill the bizarre feeling crawling around your stomach. “You decided to sleep with a bunch of chicks so I’d notice you, and what, get jealous and crawl into your bed too?!”
“It’s not like that,” he says, teeth gritted. His posture shifts, shoulders now hunched and eyes darkening with every passing second. The seams on his shirt pull taut. “I– I like you, and I didn’t know how to go about liking someone younger than me, so I did the only thing I could think of, and after the first time I knew it was wrong, I knew there were better ways to get your attention or pique your interest, damn I only needed to have an intellectual conversation with you to work that one out! But I just couldn’t stop, and I then thought if I delayed sleeping with you, and spent small slots of time with you every time I came, then you wouldn’t forget me, and maybe you’d like me too.”
“That is so fucked up you don’t even realise. You could’ve engaged in more political activism, asked me about college earlier, why I joined this office, or heaven forbid, tried to get to know me and see what we have in common in a friendly way instead of being a perv for years!!!”
“I know,” tears begin to brim in his eyes, and his hands make a futile dart across the table to grab yours, “I’m so sorry.”
Frankly, you’re appalled at all of his actions, of course you are—they’re completely immoral, but here he is, spilling his heart and guts all over the table for you to see. His soul is right there: you could shatter it with a single word if you wanted to.
But you’re past using words right now. So you stand up, grabbing your coat as you shove the chair out from beneath you, standing surprisingly solid even in your high heels. You’ve had enough of his bullshit.
Your hands are clammy and shaking, though, as you press down on your thighs, and your breaths come out shallow despite your best attempts. What sort of sick fucking game is he playing here? Appalled doesn’t begin to cover it. But at the same time…
What if he’s telling the truth?
That makes everything so much worse than you’d begin to consider. Because if he was, you would not be able to refuse this pull he has to him.
You hear his footsteps pounding behind you, evidently having just settled your tab, and races to reach the door before you can. One strong hand wraps around the chrome handle, pulling enough for his muscles to ripple, his rings glistening in the dimming lights.
“I’m sorry,” he says earnestly, more earnest than you’ve ever seen him before, his deep voice breaking.
He’s already paid for your drinks, and now he’s apologising and being chivalrous? As you pass him in the narrow glass doorway to the bar, your chest brushes against him, your nipples peaking at the friction between you. And that’s the moment it’s over, because the sincerity in his eyes could not possibly be a lie, no matter how great an actor he is.
“I’m sorry,” he apologises again, softer this time, and evidently for the touch neither of you intended.
But fuck it, you’ve had enough of being the good girl, and no matter how old he is, you’re an adult, and you can be reckless for one night if you damn well want to be. And good lord above do you want to get down and dirty with Mr Evans and see what all the damn fuss is about. In all honesty, you have for a long ass time, but would never admit it. He doesn’t have to know that, though. All he needs to feel is the same flame of passion you feel.
One slender hand swiftly wraps around his head, nails burying in his close cropped hair that bristles at your fingertips as you tug him to you, kissing him. Hard.
His body reacts as yours does, possibly even swifter, almost instantly as he draws you closer, his hands spanning your hips and waist, his grip bruising you. Your body is flush against his, cramped in this tiny doorway, and yet nowhere could’ve been a better first kiss for the two of you. The butterflies that erupt in your belly could swarm a stampede of elephants with their ferocity, and you wouldn’t change a single step it took to get here for the world.
Chris pulls away, just barely, gasping for breath as he searches your eyes. His lips are stained the same red as your lipstick. That’s when you know he’s absolutely in love with you, from this very moment on.
“Out of every one, you’re the only one I want, the only one I’ve wanted since I first saw your tight little ass in those skirts, and your long luscious legs in those stockings and stilettos. Maybe it was the wrong way to get your attention, but…”
“Chris? Shut up.”
He does not have to be told twice, not when you’re dressed in somehow even higher heels and a stunning dress that clings a little too well to every curve of your body. Of course he’s all too enamoured with your brain as well, but your body takes the cake as you kiss him in the middle of a busy D.C. street and yank his hand down to your ass when he isn’t moving fast enough by himself. That's the moment he realises that he has no control in this situation whatsoever, and more surprisingly, he's absolutely more than okay with that.
Your tongues don’t just dance, they tango almost instantly, as soon as he begs entrance with a pleading swipe. He tastes of sweet alcohol and smells of that heavenly cologne but he feels like Chris, something so innate and authentic that you can’t quite describe it.
“Your place or mine?” he asks—begs—when your kisses move to the beard covering his sharp jawline.
A feline smirk wins over as you feel his heart absolutely pounding beneath his pulsepoint, the erratic beat telling you you’re doing everything right. Let’s just say men aren’t your usual area of expertise…
“Yours. Where’s your driver?”
“Just round the corner, if we can make it that far.”
“I can, baby…” you hum, sliding your hand down his toned chest, feeling the tight muscles beneath his Henley as you find his belt, and slip your hand underneath, fishing for his rock-hard member inside, “but I don’t think you can.”
He hisses as your slender fingers wrap around his cock even through his boxers, his head falling to the crook of your shoulder. Magnanimous in victory, gracious in defeat, except you won’t be magnanimous about this win whatsoever, and you have a feeling he’s about to turn into an absolute brat.
“Can you, Mr Evans?” you purr in his ear.
“Yes! Yes, yes, yes…”
You slip your hand through his, giving the both of you a whole wedge of space between your bodies, both radiating heat. “Come on then.”
The speed with which you strut down the street is amazing, thinks Chris, when you have heels of that height on. Your hips sway with every move, your ass creating a peachy silhouette in the flimsy, fitted fabrisc, the same ass he was grabbing at for dear life just minutes ago. When you reach the glossy town car, you don’t even wait for him before flinging the door open and clambering inside, letting him follow of his own volition, but you know the show you’re putting on, and by this point he must be able to tell that the undies you’re wearing aren’t what one would call full coverage. The driver speeds off the minute Chris’s door closes, which also happens to be the moment his lips fuse to yours, his arms caging you in on the leather seat as you grasp onto his shoulders for purchase. His hand skims its way down your dress, each stunted brush of his fingertips on your skin growing in courage that sparks you alive until he reaches the split seam at the leg.
Your hand flies out, pinching his wrist between your thumb and forefinger.
“You think you’ve earned that yet?” you taunt.
His eyes fly open, the blue splintering into shards as a surprisingly puppy-like look clouds his view.
“N– no…” he murmurs, his lips barely moving, “please can I earn it? I’ll make you feel good, I promise.”
So dominant and bossy in the office, so unbelievably pliant and submissive in bed. Just the way a man should be, you grin.
“Go on then, baby.”
There’s no other way to say it than that his face lights up at the prospect, grasping your hips as he turns you both onto your sides, your back pressed against the leather upholstery while Chris works his way up your thighs with gentle caresses despite his rough fingertips, licking his lips when his digits brush the line of your panties. The stark chill of his rings sends a shiver up your spine.
“May I?”
“You may,” you permit.
Like a kid in a candy store, he can’t wait, but his enthusiasm doesn’t counteract his talent. Pushing the fabric aside, his fingers swipe through your folds, gathering the proof of your arousal. A drop of drool appears in the corner of his mouth, his tongue darting out to instinctively lick it away. His eyes flicker to yours for consent, a pleading, doe expression to them. You almost smirk while nodding.
Starting with two, he glides his fingers up your inner walls, tentatively, almost, using a beckoning motion against the velvet sponginess, testing for the spot that makes your knees tremble, even when sandwiched between him and the leather seats. The metal of his rings settles against your core. He works you gently, his eyes growing wider with every whimper you suppress by biting your tongue or lip. His ‘come hither’ movements make it seem as though he’s physically beckoning you to come.
He is. Especially when he begins to work your clit like a joystick, but with an immense tactile talent. The edge is teetering within hold, on a ledge, just when the car rolls to a halt.
“We’re here, Sir.”
“Thank you,” you call, straightening out your dress. Chris repeats your actions, shoving his hands deep in his pockets as you clamber out onto the street. Your togetherness is astounding, though you can’t say as much for Chris, jittery and bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Do you want to let me into your house, Mr Evans?”
He groans, his head thrown back, and leads you into the building. To his credit, as you trawl through the corridors, he doesn’t lay a finger on you or say a word. There could be other people around seeing as this is an apartment block, albeit a small one, and he doesn’t so much as kiss you. Until he keys open the lock on his door.
“Nuh-uh,” you scold, “I want you to wash your hands, fetch condoms and lube, and wait for me in the bedroom, only in your pants, yeah?”
He nods eagerly, like a puppy dog, and dashes off before you can even praise him. Sure, it’d be a pleasure to undress him, but this is more efficient, and he riled you more than you’d care to admit in the car.
You kick off your heels at the door, peel your stockings down your legs before taking steps further into his abode. A bachelor pad, that much is evident. Your toes savour the shag pile rug, a white leather sofa holding pride of place opposite the gigantic flat screen which is no doubt tuned into a sporting channel. You finger the strap holding your dress up, trailing your other hand over the keys of his piano, revelling in the faint tinker they make. The straps of your dress skim your arms as they fall down, the garment falling from your body. You step out of it and into the master suite.
There he is, bare, muscular chest rising and falling from the exertion. His boxers cling to his body, and the items you requested are in one hand.
“Good boy,” you praise, sarcasm lacing your tone, but he eats it up. “Thank you Mr Evans.”
“O– of course Miss Y/l/n.”
You take a step closer to him, your fingertips meeting his calf, covered with dark hair.
“Tell me, are you this good for all the women you bring home?”
“No, only for you.”
You smile a little, “Right answer, handsome.”
A crimson blush coats his cheeks, the colour deepening, paired with his jaw gaping, when you move to straddle his thighs. Your underwear, albeit sturdy and modest compared to most people’s lingerie, is a delicate lace that compliments your skin perfectly. The high waistband hugs the very top of your hips, ribbons falling from the band of your bra to tie the set together with a small bow.
“Can I touch you?” he asks, enamoured.
You nod, and instantly his hands are on you, touching whatever skin he can reach across your torso and your waist, down to your own thighs, up to your collarbones and higher. You use his distracted state as leverage, pushing him down onto the pillows. He falls with enthusiasm, and his grip doesn’t falter. Impressive.
“You wanna undress me, or must I do that myself?” you ask with a sly smile.
“Please can I? God, I wanna…”
“Go on then.”
His nimble fingers go straight for the bows, separating your bra and panties, and he then reaches for the clasp at the back of your bra, allowing your breasts to fall free, spilling into his awaiting palms. His thumb and forefingers tweak your nipples, his blue eyes as wide as saucers now as he mumbles senselessly.
“I thought you were an ass man, Mr Evans.”
Incoherent noises slip past his lips, worse than before, but his hands slip around your ribs and down your back, allowing you to feel every ridge and callus before he starts pawing at your ass.
“Oh my God,” he whimpers, “oh my God, I’ve been dreaming about this for years.”
His movements are rough, clumsy, the pads of his fingers dragging along your supple flesh as he kneads your bum with what seems to be all his strength. It definitely turns you on to see this more animalistic side of him, to have him paw at you like a man starved.
“My turn,” you announce.
At the mere sound of your voice, your tone laced with a slight authority, his actions cease, and his hands are rendered at his sides. His head bobs eagerly. You shimmy a little further down his legs, balancing your weight on your calves as your lips come down on the script just beneath his clavicle. His hands fist the sheers, the material tearing slightly as you graze your tongue over the tattoo, but you could swear his brain explodes like the fireworks visible behind his eyes when you lave your tongue over the eagle covering his right pec, skimming his peaked niple as you follow the intricate patterns of ink.
“Ohmygod, please.” He sounds pretty when he begs, that deep tone and Bostonian accent all wrapped in a parcel designed to make your panties even wetter.
To cool him down for a minute, to make him tick, you switch to the designs on each of his upper biceps. The whine is beautiful, so high pitched and needy, you can’t help but smirk a little before giving in and switching your attention to the tattoos on his ribs, blood-coloured lipstick stains littering his skin. He groans now, low and deep, one hand weaving into your hair to tug. You move further down his body, ensuring now to fix your eyes on his, to dare him to look away as you kiss and lick and bite every piece of ink covering the rest of his abs. The feral growl he emits when you finally graze your teeth over the one in his v-line, watching his eyes finally flutter closed as his hips buck up into you for the first time. He’s rock hard, his clothed cock against the column of your throat. Miraculously, this seems to be when he finds his voice, and when his inner brat starts to show.
“Who knew Little Miss Priss liked tattoos?”
Your teeth, previously lifting the waistband of his skin-tight boxers in order to remove them, let go and snap the band against his skin. He winces.
“Call me that again, and you won’t be coming tonight.”
“I’m so sorry, Miss y/l/n,” he bleats.
You don’t deign him with a response, your face a hard mask once again as you peel the fabric from his body in one move, removing your own panties a second later. You snatch up a condom, ripping the packet open and removing the item.
“S– shouldn’t I be doing that?”
Your eyes burn into his, a cold stare, “You’ve proven that you can’t be trusted with your own pleasure so no, Mr Evans, you shouldn’t. May I?”
“Y– yes.”
You pinch the top and roll it onto his thick cock, even bigger and heavier in your hand than he previously seemed to be. Long, uncut, extremely sensitive…
“You want this?” you confer.
“Yes, yes, I want this so much, I have for so long… can’t wait to feel you wrapped around me, your skin on mine, fuck, please just make me feel good!”
A smirk tugs at the corner of your red lips. “If you insist.”
Grasping his cock in one hand, you sink down on him, no need for the lube you asked him to fetch just in case. It’s a snug fit, his girth stretching your walls, his dick pulsating with every flutter your pussy makes. Wow. Before you’ve even moved, once you’re fully seated on him, his tip grazes your g-spot. You haven’t been with a guy in quite some time, so this is different, but it’s definitely good.
“You’re so tight,” he grunts.
“And you’re so big, Mr Evans,” you tell him, fluttering your lashes.
He’s a mess already, and it seems incoherency is his strong suit, since he replies with a mere, “You’re so beautiful,” that makes you want to cave to his wishes already
His hips make the move to cant upwards, but you stop him with a sharp thrust of your own, reminding him just who’s in control. He doesn’t complain. You rise onto your knees and sink back down onto him, your pace increasing every so often, watching the way his abs contract, hoe his lips part with each little moan that slips by them, his crystal eyes closing when the lewd noises of your wet pussy become too loud.
“I’m so in love with your body,” he murmurs.
The bliss overtakes you too, rolling your hips as his pubic bone grazes over your clit with every grind, his cock hitting every sweet spot laced inside your core.
“I– I’m close,” he cries.
You can tell, and just to tease him some more, you rake your nails over his abs, your hips forming a figure eight as you ride him harder.
“I know, Mr Evans. But you won’t come without permission, will you?”
You rise up onto your knees and fall back onto him, his hands making another grab for your ass as your own stomach starts to coil at long last, a blazing orgasm burning on the fringes, hissing through your veins. With one final grind, you lower your lips to his ear, your hot breath fanning the lobe as the trim patch of hair offers yoru pearl enough friction to draw you into a haze.
“Good boy.”
“Thank you!”
Your orgasm is transcendent, racking through your body with no regard for anything else, a loud moan searing your throat as you ride it out, your walls squeezing Chris. Even once you come down from your pleasure, your hips are moving leisurely, but there are tears forming in Mr Evans’ eyes.
“You wanna come, baby, now you’ve made me feel good?”
His nod surely makes him dizzy, his breath coming out in laboured pants as he searches for the tiniest tad of friction.
“Yes, please. You’ve made me feel so good, too.”
“Come for me, then, Mr Evans,” you coax.
Right on cue, he does, his load filling the condom, warmth spreading through your core. He groans and whines, shakes and clings to you. Wow.
As much as you hate to admit it, you can see why everyone says he’s such a good lay, why he always has a new intern in his bed. So obedient, so attentive, such a pretty face…
But he’s not your type, and you don’t exactly feel like working through all his shit with him. This hookup definitely fits under the umbrella of ‘I can’t fix him but I can rail him,’ and you’re okay with that.
“Miss y/l/n,” he breaks the silence, “that was incredible, you’re so sexy I could cry, but… please can you do something for me?”
Your hand strays to his hair, smoothing down the dark, wry locks, “Of course I can.”
“C– can you degrade me?” Your eyes grow wide, your jaw opening slightly in shock. “No, no, don’t worry. Forget I asked, I’m so sorry.”
“No, Mr Evans. That’s not it. I definitely can, but I thought you liked praise?”
“I do!” he hastens to add. “I love praise, but I kinda like soft degradation, y’know calling me names and saying my only use is to make you feel good?”
“Yeah, sure, I can do that.” You pause, eyes trailing over his face. “Only for you, Mr Evans.”
“Thank you, Miss y/l/n, you’re the best…”
And there’s your praise kink flaring up again. He was praising you so much and it only fuelled your already roaring libido. You weren’t planning another round, but if he really wants this, and if he’ll keep praising you…
“You wanna eat me out, baby? Use your tongue like a good boy should?”
He hardens within you at your words alone. Impressive. You roll off of him, allowing him to do with the condom what he will as you take a swig of water from the glass beside his bed that you hadn’t noticed before, but that he must’ve brought with him before this began, since there’s an identical glass on the opposite stand, beside his rings. When you turn back, though, he’s ready. He grabs you by your thighs, using an astounding upper body strength to haul you over to him, your knees astride his shoulders. His tongue darts out to lick at your swollen nub, stiff like your nipples.
“You taste divine.”
“Well let’s hope you can make me feel it, baby,” you coo, “or is that too much for you?”
Challenge shines in his eyes and he doesn’t hesitate to bring your pussy down on his face, his beard rubbing your inner thighs and lower lips almost instantly. The friction is heavenly, and has you grabbing onto the headboard and his cropped hair for purchase.
His tongue delicately parts the seam of your labia, already lapping at the drops of your arousal, humming at the taste. The vibrations roll through your body, curving your spine. His nose nudges your pearl but his lithe muscle works its way further down to your opening, inserting his tongue where his dick had been just minutes before. His skill is immense, sending your nerves into a frenzy while your hips undulate over his face of their own accord, drawing whimpers olling from his lips to match your moans.
“Finally your mouth has a purpose further than chatting up other women.”
“Yes, Miss y/l/n!” he agrees, though it’s muffled.
He licks, laves and lavishes, sending pleasure coursing through your every brain, tormenting your mind with lust, the precursor of a luxuriant climax you can’t quite reach yet. He returns his tongue to your clit, peeling away the hood as he suckles on the nub, finally building that coil in your lower belly. The sharp cry that tears from your throat isn’t your fault but is due to the talent of his tongue.
“Nothing more than a fuck toy, eh?” you tease.
His moan floods your core with more arousal than you know what to do with, your hips bucking, hands pulling at his hair while his beard tickles your sensitive inner thighs, only adding to the sensation. His fumbling caresses on your ass draw him closer to you, whining, his pelvis thrusting into thin air as he searches for the friction he’s doling out to you in spades, his rigid sex hardening with your every rise and fall.
“So horny, so desperate, and you can’t even touch yourself. Pathetic little noises,” you jibe, “you’re touching me so well, though, baby…”
And at that precise moment, his one hand moves from cupping your ass cheek and slips his finger past the tight ring of muscle, only to the first knuckle, but oh the intrusion. You startle, as though electrically sparked, jolts of pleasure ricocheting around you: his brat tendencies are showing again. Still, it’s not unwelcome, and you find yourself leaning into the action, seeking the waves of pleasure that run up your spine when paired with his mouth and hands working your different holes, his facial hair stimulating your clit as far as you can go.
“Stupid man, Mr Evans, getting me into your bed this way. Well now at least you won at something…”
You can feel him hardening behind you and beneath you, since the muscles in his chest and abs contract with each twitch of his thick cock. He could make you scream with pleasure if you weren’t so inhibited, so your moans and murmurs will have to suffice, since you feel it even if you don’t convey it.
It’s fervid, a fever dream, but your climax comes on like a freight train, flooring you as you writhe above Mr Evans, sitting on his face and using him for your pleasure only. Your walls clench around his tongue, but he only takes it as an opportunity to delve further in, his heart beating rapidly beneath you. Your hands travel upwards as you ride the waves that ebb and flow around you, tweaking at your nipples and feeling the sensations everywhere.
You topple off him, falling into the cool sheets that shape around you, your chest heaving. You turn your head to glance at Chris, currently panting just like you are, white cum sticking to his gorgeous muscles and contrasting the dark ink of his tattoos and the shadows of your lipstick. The smirk that tugs at your mouth is pure feline, a blooming sense of achievement in your chest.
“Someone enjoyed himself,” you intone. His face flushes a crimson that it probably shouldn’t after where it just was, which is why you add, “Sorry for, y’know.,” you gesture to your thighs and then his face.
He chuckles, rolling on his side to face you, “Being caught between your thighs is the most delicious vise of silken flesh…”
You smile to yourself, scraping your nails gently through his hair, “I’ve gotta go pee. Bathroom through there?” You point to a door covered in stacks of blazers and shirts on the hooks: all of which he’s worn to the office this week.
“Yeah. Miss you already.”
You roll your eyes at his lopsided expression as you scurry away and sort yourself out, admiring the vintage-style tile that covers the room head to toe, even on the toilet lid. Not very subtle, and therefore very Chris.
He’s standing there, towering in the doorway when you open the door again, taking you by surprise by snatching your lips in a kiss. You close the door and pluck his henley off the pile by his bed. The duvet is around your waist, your head in the pillows, by the time he comes back out, stopping dead at the sight, his abs glistening with drops of water.
“It suits you better. Keep it.”
“If you insist,” you giggle. “Join me?”
“Not running out on me, then?” he asks.
You shake your head. “Not yet.”
Though in actuality you can’t gather the sense to leave, not when his sheets smell just like him, woody and masculine and citrusy and so damn comforting. And while you won’t verbally admit it, you want to fall asleep in his strong, safe arms just this once before you let tonight go like it was just a dream, if you can ever find the strength for that.
“Hey, you okay?” he prys, his voice low. Suddenly he’s beside you, his fingers under your chin, his thumb swiping your lip. “You went away with the fairies.”
“Yeah, sorry. I– I’m good. Thank you for this, Chris. It was really nice. And I’m so sorry for how rude I was to you earlier. And before that. And I’m sorry it took me so long because this was such an incredible night, and I do like spending time with you…”
He cuts you off by his lips on yours, fusing, melding, fastening, your words lost on the tip of your tongue as his steals them away. His kisses are the most intoxicating thing about him.
“It’s okay. I’m real sorry for everything as well, but we’re here, right?” You nod, surprised at his relaxing tone. “And that’s all that matters. Don’t get all het up.”
You nestle into him, your head slotting perfectly between his shoulder and neck. Lips brushing your temple, arms enveloping you, fingers tracing… it’s funny how much can change in such a short space of time. His digits find your folds again, slipping through, arousing you once more before caressing your waist, your ass, anywhere he can reach.
“Chris?” you murmur.
He shushes you gently, “You can rest now. You deserve it. I’m here.”
Chris stirs at the blaring sound of his alarm, rolling over in the sheets, now laced with your scent. He presses snooze, laying back in the pillows, a lazy smile adorning his face. Last night was… consummate. The best sex of his life. Yet when he turns to your side of the bed, the sheets are neatly straightened, and there’s no sign of you. Not even a note.
“Y/n?” he calls. Upon garnering no response, he calls again, louder this time.
The relief that floods his senses is surely not normal, but he can’t help it when your head pops around the door, his shirt gracing your tall frame.
“I was just making some tea. I didn’t realise you were up.”
“I only just woke, darling. Come back to bed.”
You sigh, cracking the door open a little more despite turning on your heel, away from him. “I’ve got work.”
“No you haven’t:” he rushes, “I got you a paid day off for today.”
“Chris! No!” you exclaim. “That’s not your place.”
“I– I’m sorry. I just wanted to spend some more time with you. I’m leaving tomorrow night and I won’t be back for months…”
He truly is a little brat. You leave his mind to scramble and go to pour your tea, your clothes assembled in a neat pile on the piano. Right on cue, he scampers out from his room, one foot caught in his boxers as he hops over his apartment to reach you.
“Y/n, please. Spend the day with me. I’ll take you for breakfast, lunch, dinner, take you shopping, to the library, or we could stay in bed, or watch TV or do wherever you want. Please don’t go yet.” His voice fractures, weaning in strength with his final words. For all that you pride yourself on your cold exterior and ability to be objective on many matters, a forty year old millionaire kneeling at your feet and begging you to spend the day with him is something you can’t refuse. The sincerity in his eyes sends an ache through your heart. And that, paired with that stupid voice in your heart encouraging you to, is the reason you agree to stay.
“I’ll come back to bed, go straighten the covers,” you tell him.
His face all but lights up, even beneath the dark beard covering the lower portion. Except before he disappears, he jogs to the door, snatches up your Louboutins, and dashes back to his room. You smile to yourself. Chris’ cheekiness is a compelling enough reason in itself to spend the day in bed with him.
The clock strikes 9pm, the time you told yourself you’d leave his apartment and not look bad. So now the moment’s come, why are you so hesitant to part with him? It’s a necessary evil, and you've been together constantly for the past twenty four hours… You’re dressed in his flannel over your dress, standing at his door, watching him towel dry his hair. You whiled the day away in bed, mostly, going out for a nice lunch, watching a film in his arms in the afternoon, not even discussing work or politics once, but falling into a steady rhythm. Despite the comfort, your differences were still alarming, which is exactly why you’re here, ready to go.
Chris catches sight of you and his movements halt, his expression resigned, his shoulders slumped. “I thought today would be enough to convince you to stay.”
“Good sex and a nice lunch doesn’t equal a relationship, Mr Evans,” you say, adding an inflection of humour to your tone. It doesn’t convey, or meet your eyes. You know how resigned you must look, too.
“But I care about you! I want this to work, I want to be with you, I want a relationship. Please.” That escalated very quickly. Evidently you went into this with very different expectations. It takes you a good moment of silence, kicking your shoes off to meet his height in his moment of vulnerability, until you find the right words, modulating your tone accordingly.
“Chris, we can’t be together. I don’t feel the same way you feel about me. I’m warming to you as a person, but you’re a political broadcaster, for lack of a better word, while I’m at school, working to become a politician. That in itself is enough of a reason for us to be incompatible, not to mention age, distance, my sexuality and preference of girls… I can’t be with you,” you tell him in earnest.
The air is sucked from the room around you, the lights flickering.
“Y/n, please,” he begs, his accent thick, “you’re everything to me. You’re the one I look forward to seeing every visit.”
“And that doesn’t have to stop because of this!” you exclaim. “I’ll see you the next time you come, I– I’ll help you with ASP stuff whenever, but that doesn’t mean I have to be your obedient little girlfriend.” You certainly didn’t intend the bite in your words.
“I don’t expect that of you!” he cries. “I just want you, in whatever capacity. I want you to do this, finish school, be a politician, and I’ll give up whatever it takes for us.”
Your heart shatters at the resignedness in his eyes, his voice, the every line of his body. You take his hands in yours and hold them, your thumbs rubbing shy circles over his knuckles. “I don’t want you to do that, Chris. Look at me, c’mon.” His eyes trail to meet yours, tears shining afresh in them. “I trust you. I believe in what you feel. And just because I don’t feel it yet, my feelings for you have definitely increased these past few days. But I’m not ready for a relationship yet. You’ve gotta appreciate that I’m still really young, still in college, and while what’s between us may be ‘it’ for us both, I need to experience more of the world and build a life for myself before I can offer my heart to someone.”
He sniffles, tugging one hand away from yours to wipe at his eyes and nose. “I get that. I’m sorry.”
“Shh, no, don’t apologise. And we can still do this, yeah? Whenever you come down, I’ll be here to see you and we can spend time together, we can help each other out. I’ll even come to Boston during the holidays if you want me to,” you offer.
Your brain won’t accept it yet, but Mr Evans irrevocably holds a piece of your heart. Maybe you will find your way back to him in the future when things are more settled, when the age difference doesn’t matter so much, when he’s grown out of his man-whoring ways. Sure he can teach you a lot, but you can help him too, educate him, motivate him, prove what his activism can truly do. But for now, this is what’s right, no matter the cost and the pain.
“Can you stay with me tonight?” he whispers.
“Of course I can.”
“Good morning, Miss y/l/n,” Mr Evans calls to you as he passes through the office.
His brogues click on the floor, though you can see through his feigned confidence as he flicks open his blazer by the single button straining across his tattooed chest. No one else sees him this way, though: only you can see that vulnerability. His favourite intern.
“Good morning, Sir,” you echo, straightening your neckerchief and how it fits in your blouse now you’ve removed your blazer, the one that matches his favourite of your skirts, “did you have a good night?”
Last night, Chris made love to you for hours. He ensured he proved every single word to you, appreciating you with every inch of his body. He fulfilled promises he made that no one could make good on but him. That tenderness and passion can’t be feigned. Something in him has melted the iciness of you, warming your soul up to him, the idea of a relationship. And yet you can’t imagine it with anyone but Chris, even if the idea is in your future.
His smile is gentle, his eyes already shining with unshed tears by the time he reaches the door to his office. He thinks only one heart was broken last night, but you knew from the moment you chatted sincerely with him, that you’d be another intern with a broken heart, only so much worse. Which is why his next words wound you so. “I did, thank you. A good enough night to face the day, and all the rest to follow.”
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lizzylucky · 2 days ago
So I finally gave in and bought Encanto's Three Sisters book. (it wasn't even $10 if anyone was thinking about it)
I'm not even half done reading it, but there are already so many little things it talks about that aren't obvious (at least to me) from watching the movie.
For example, it clarifies that Antonio is just SO shy and quiet all the time, up until he gets his gift. All three sisters have thoughts regarding this that sum up to the idea that receiving your gift in the Madrigal family just helps you to be *more* yourself, and believe it helped Antonio open up.
Mirabel, much more often, and in thought, feels remorseful about not having a gift. Isabela views recieving your gift as a sort of qualifier for being a Madrigal, like you can't truly be an integrated member of the family until you have yours, but even then counts Mirabel as an exception.
And, man, I can't even TELL you... Poor Luisa!!! She's so busy and stressed and anxious all the time!!! During Antonio's day, she's sent to set up fireworks around back, but she has to clear the area of brush and leaves first, and then some of the foliage needs trimming, and she's spending the entire afternoon between chores and taking people's wagons and donkeys to the side of the house for the event, and she has to bring in seating and set up furniture and decorations, and Abuela TOLD her to put the piano in the courtyard, and THEN told her to take it upstairs, and she is literally just busy, busy, busy until her Mother calls her for the start of Antonio's ceremony, feeling out of the blue because Luisa didn't realize how much time had passed through all that. Two or three times she thought maybe someone wanted a hug and then actually it was another chore or a prank or something and she's just so disappointed.
Not to mention the following day; reroute the river, fix the leaning house, move the church to the left, actually back to the right, now find the donkeys... Of course we know those already, but then one of the donkeys literally pees on her shoe, and apparently someone wanted the plaza repaved and Alma VOLUNTEERS Luisa without the poor girl even being there for it.... Just give this girl a break and a hug! It's all she wants!
(She literally has the best hugs, this isn't even a theory, she mentions it like twice just to this point 😭)
Also, can I just mention the fact that Isabela made a daisy chain necklace for Mirabel on her 5th birthday? And a little flower crown for Luisa on hers, too, because she was stressed out?
Furthermore, Isa isn't portrayed quite so stuck-up as she appears in the first half of the movie. I'd like to think that this is just a matter of perspective and none of what we see her as is really how she is, because she's just so nervous and stressed... Like, she loves her sisters! But she genuinely feels so nervous about how her Abuela sees her, and to no particular fault she just thinks that the things Mirabel goes on about, like cracks in Casita's walls, are made up, and she even envies how much more useful a gift like super strength is compared to her own, or how much less would be expected of her if she simply didn't have a gift.
Really, she does love her family! She wanted to comfort Mirabel when Abuela went to see the nonexistent cracks in the courtyard, but was scared that it would be misinterpreted and she would be judged harshly for it. Yes she cares very much about her image, even turning down a messier treat made by Julieta in order to keep her dress clean, but she does this because she was the first grandchild and knows that Abuela expects her to be the perfect forefront image of the family, something that is stressed all the time.
This isn't even the half of it, and I've not even *read* the half of it! I'm telling you, there are so many new details that the book adds to what we know of the characters and I love how much more depth it provides with a simple change in perspective. I could just go on and on, really.
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plan-d-to-i · 2 days ago
Listen, I actually like Jin Ling. He's a character who can be seen to be "growing up" Throughout mdzs, from reckless arrogant rich boi to slightly more endearing teenager. He knows his faults, he learns, accepts critics, and fix himself. I appreciate him. I like Jin Ling as a character, and I like his friendship with Shizui, Jingyi, and Zhizeng.
But the thing is, how the fans paired him up with Sizhui or/and others, it makes their friendship fell flats. I understand that some, if not most, people likes to make CPs and create a BL kingdom where everyone are Gay. But really, the way fans tainting the beautiful friendship filled with important phase of developments of the characters, to see their well-written relationship in canon be wrecked and simplified as another "romantic love" To satiate the BL thirst of the readers, it really makes everything feel cheaps, in my opinion.
I really don't have anything against CP making in the fandom, it's up to others, and CP making is just something for entertainment, I know and I did the same to other characters from other Literatures, for amusement.
If the CP is just for fun, I really understand it. But you see, a lot of people started to take and treat Zhuiling as if they're so Canon, just like how they treated Xicheng as if they're Canon. And it just makes me so annoyed because it really ruin the beauty of the TRUE Canon of those juniors...
Speaking of Jin Ling, I will never understand why people fixate on jc to the extent that they do just to essentially fanon him into a subpar verison of Jin Ling when JIN LING IS RIGHT THERE. ଲ(ⓛ ω ⓛ)ଲ
Jin Ling is a teenager who fears his uncle enough to run away and hide w Jin Guangyao after he defies him, but he still doesn't feel comfortable letting jiang cheng disappear MXY like he's done w others.
"“It’s not like this is the first time my uncle’s done something like this. He always prefers the prospect of catching the wrong person to the prospect of letting anyone go"
Once he was done, Jin Ling turned around and began walking off. After a few steps, he looked backward and said, “Why are you just standing there? Are you just going to wait for my uncle to come and get you? Let me tell you, don’t think that just because you rescued me, I’ll have some kind of deep gratitude toward you. Especially don’t hang your hopes on me telling you some mushy nonsense.”
Except he did just make jc into clown sending him on a wild goose chase after Wen Ning and tricking all the other YunmengJiang lackeys so could save WWX. And he's coming off a literal lifetime of jc's influence. Not to mention how quickly he starts to change with only a few corrections from WWX. JC grew up with WWX (and JFM) and nothing stuck to him!!! This is why saying Yu Ziyuan is completely responsible for the way jc turns out, doesn't check out...
Anyway back to the topic at hand, obviously none of the junior ships are canon, but people trying to turn what they like into canon instead of just happily shipping/ vibing with their headcanons is definitely a fandom wide problem 🥲. Personally, I'm just not very good at shipping 😅. I can't even imagine any of the juniors in relationships yet, so I like their friendship. I think I get what MXTX meant when she said she wanted to focus on one major ship in her works. So much detail, and care went into WangXian canonically- it's hard to pay attention to anything else.
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antiloreolympus · 2 days ago
10 Anti LO Asks
1. u know the few years they cant see each other is both so theres no actual punishment but also so persephone is technically in her mid 20s when they officially ~get married~ and now rachel can claim she totally wasnt a creep for making persephone so borderline underage as opposed to just ... making her not a teenager in the first place. p much every writing choice in LO now is rachel desperately trying to retcon her past bad writing choices but it's so obvious it's almost laughable.
2. so the "big punishment" is hades has to wait til persephone can legally drink and rent a car on her own before he can tie her down to being his trophy wife and knocking her up? good to know the thousands who died senseless, painful deaths got their "justice" in being a minor inconvenience for these two.
3. lo fans praising hades for not being a r//pist is funnier when you realize rachel very purposely took hades' actual mythology and pinned it on another character to demonize him purely because hades is that awful in mythology in terms of his relationship with persephone and she couldnt just be normal about it. like literally lo apollo's crimes in comic are myth hades' actual doing. it's crazy they dont connect the dots or even do a basic google search and realize how bad they sound.
4. That baby Persephone crying being gifted with wrath frame is the ugliest thing I've seen in LO in a long time
5. Apollo and Artemis are Zeus's children oh my god I can't believe it blah blah blah. Okay. So Rachel insists on dressing people in 18th century-esque gowns when talking about the time Leto and Hera were friends. Some people here didn't like it, but I think it's fine. However. Wtf is up with Zeus's shirt when he's shown kissing Leto, her outfit resembles vaguely antique undergarments, but his shirt is just a modern-ass shirt!! What the hell is going on with the fashion?
6. rachel must be sobbing her eyes out that now persephone might be like 23 when she marries hades, she's basically ancient by that age. everyone knows youre an old maid by 21 and persephone would lose valuable years to give hades his desirable amount of clones for himself. it's absolutely tragic. whatever will they do.
7. well of course hades would be upset over not being able to see persephone for a certain amount of years. she'll age out of his age range.
8. Don't read the webtoon whatsoever but I'm reading all these fast pass mentions and y'all have to be pulling my leg. They all sound so bad??? The trial outcome??? And how Persephone was made??? 100 roses?? Double beauty?? Her act of wrath, the 1 thing that was supposed to lead up to her supposed dread Queen status, wasn't even her fault?????? Y'all are kidding right???? This is legit?????
Holy fuck, why does webtoon keep promoting this, why do the fans try so hard to defend this, this whole series is actual garbage
9. ngl, I love how in trying to giving persephone a ~tragic backstroy~ to explain her actions rachel instead strip her of literally any and every thing she could have had to even pretend to be a character. she has no intelligence of her own, she's only beautiful on a fluke, she has no kindness, and even her ambitions/emotions arent even her own! it's telling us without this, persephone is staler than a piece of old bread. this is exactly how to NOT develop a character. truly impressive on RS' part.
10. not to bring up PJO but with hades and maria there was conflict in them being separated because she's mortal and thus time spent together was more important because of how limited her life was, but LO trying to pull that too between two immortals is like?? get over yourselves?? also in PJO there was years of having a relationship and kids involved, meanwhile in LO they've legit only known each other a month. rachel wants the emotional reaction with none of the actual stakes/work put into  it.
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pepa-madrigal · 2 days ago
Here's a question do you think the madrigals gifts ever glitches? Like Camilo got stuck in the wrong body, or pepa vouldnt get rid of a certain weather, or Isabela couldnt stop growing plants around her, or bruno couldnt get rid of a vision? And like, what do they do at that point?
I’m gonna say yes. Because we’ve seen them kinda “glitch” already, and yes that had to do with the miracle dying, BUT the miracle dying had to do with the lack of communication and truly seeing each other in the family, as well as how people were being reduced down to their gifts.
So by that logic, on an individual level, if they were struggling with their identity on their own or their purpose/usefulness because of their gifts, then perhaps they could individually “glitch” so to speak. And here’s what I think that could look like for them all:
Pepa for example, if she starts to believe her weather is getting out of control again or volatile or a burden on everyone and feels she can’t do anything about it, then she starts to spiral, which then it only makes that weather worse and much harder to stop. She’s kinda like a self-fulfilling prophecy at times, worry about what her weather will cause, trying to suppress it, which only makes it worse and causes bad weather again, which makes her worry again and the cycle repeats.
Camilo fears getting stuck and that people won’t recognize him as himself or thinks other people would actually prefer as this other person rather than him? He psyches himself out so much that he can’t change back.
Isabela, we’ve already seen her have plants grow for strong emotions, we saw the cactus, but like also flowers kinda appear whenever she gets bumps into Mirabel and gets annoyed, so maybe when she’s startled they appear too. I could see her getting so stressed she starts trailing cacti behind her everywhere she goes.
Bruno, we know he stopped having visions entirely in the walls, but perhaps when he was having them if he worried too much about it being bad and how people would react, he’d keep getting flashes of it during his day and in his dreams. Maybe even the dreams would twist them into nightmares since this aren’t actual visions, and he’d have a hard time separating dream from vision causing him to put it off even more. None of it leaves him alone until he has an actual vision.
We also saw that Luisa’s gift faded the fastest, possibly because her self-confidence went real fast too. If she believes she’s useless again? She starts feeling weaker too, or getting muscle spasms, or random moments were confidence falters so her strength falters too and she’s weak for a for few seconds before it gets better, but she drops stuff because of it.
If Julieta gets really hung up on the fact that she’s a healer but she can’t heal everything, and starts worrying that she’ll never be enough for everyone, her food won’t be as effective. It’s kinda been hinted that the love she feels is a part of the process in making her healing food, so if she’s not focusing on that and is more worried about how she’s doing, the healing magic isn’t as strong. She never totally feels a lack of love for others so it’s never completely nullified. (Although I hc she has a lack of self-love and therefore really hasn’t been able to ever fully heal herself at least)
Dolores, I think she has issues regarding the morality of eavesdropping and intruding on people’s privacy, and what that means for her ethically. The more she tries to avoid and block out her gift, instead of accepting that she can just hear all the things, and sometimes that means picking up on secrets and that’s just the way it goes and not her fault, the more it goes haywire and turns the sound up on her.
Antonio we haven’t seen much of how he might worry about his gift because he’s still baby. But perhaps if he were to “glitch” maybe his gift would switch around from animal to animal leaving him unable to fully communicate one animal to another animal?? Idk not sure on this one.
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buckyswintersoldiermask · 5 hours ago
Fake Snow
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Bucky Barnes x fem!reader
Bucky Masterlist
Summary: Bucky surprises you after you say you miss the snow.
Warning: none, just fluff.
Word Count: 1.2k
A/N: Bucky just being the sweetest <3
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It was wintertime, your favorite season. Growing up where it snowed, you loved it. You got to make snow angels, snowmen, and threw snowballs, what was there not to love?
Bucky, on the other hand, hated snow, he hated the cold for that matter. You weren’t surprised when he told you, considering all he’s been through.
So, Bucky wouldn’t have to relive those memories, the both of you moved, somewhere where it rarely snowed and got cold now and then. You were fine with it, you were, as long as you had Bucky you were happy. That didn’t stop the recurring missing feeling of the snow.
“Hey, doll, are you alright?”
‘Yeah, I’m fine.” You quickly spoke, dismissing the feeling. Bucky didn’t believe that, he slid next to you, putting his arm around you.
“Somethings bothering you.” He pushed, rubbing your shoulder with his fingers.
You hesitated for a moment, wondering if you should tell him, you didn’t want to make him feel bad. You took a deep breath, leaning over so you could look at his face, “I just miss the snow.”
Bucky realized what was happening and he didn’t know what to say, he felt responsible, he was the reason you missed the snow. “I’m sorry, we can go back, we don’t have to stay here.”
“Hey, hey, it’s okay. We don’t have to do that, we both decided to move here-.”
He interrupts, “Because of me.”
“Bucky, don’t do that, I’m fine, really. None of what I’m feeling is your fault.” You tried to explain, hoping he’d listen. “Bucky, I’m serious.”
You honestly felt bad, it wasn’t his fault, but you knew he’d take the blame for it. The both of you sat there basically in silence, watching a show on Tv until Bucky got up.
“Where are you going?” you asked, hoping he’s not leaving because of the conversation you just had.
“I need to just go grab something from the store, maybe you could go spend some time with your friends from work, what are their names again? Uh, Lucy and Georgia.” He says, grabbing his keys.
“Are you sure? I can wait for you.” You ask, looking at him, waiting for an answer.
“No need, go have some fun.” He says, before coming to kiss your forehead, “I’ll see you later, love you.”
“Love you too.”
Little did you know that Bucky had come up with a plan while you were watching Tv, if you couldn’t be where the snow was, he was determined to bring the snow to you. So he needed you out of the house, and it looked like he was accomplishing. Bucky left soon after that and you got ready to grab a drink with your work friends. You hadn’t gotten a drink with them in a while, so when you texted them they automatically agreed. You met them at a small bar, close to your job, they said it was a pretty good place.
“Hey, how are you? It's been so long.” Lucy says as you sit down at the table.
“Hi, guys, I’m good, it seems like forever since we hung out. How are you both?”
You found out that Georgia has been waiting to get out of the house, since having her daughter. Lucy, on the other hand, has been on so many dates in the last few weeks, hoping to find a spark with someone.
After catching up with them you ordered a drink, and Lucy ordered a couple of snacks for the table. You were having a really good time, but then you thought of Bucky, you were worried, and it showed.
‘Spill it, what’s going on.” Lucy demanded, knowing something was up.
“Before I texted the both of you, I told Bucky I missed the snow, and then all of sudden he says he needs to run some errands.” you continued, “I feel like I hurt him and I’m anxious.”
“Hun, I think you’re overthinking this, he may just be trying to clear his mind.” Georgia butts in, giving her advice.
“I agree with G.” Lucy agrees, offering some reassurance.
So you dropped it, they’re probably right and when you get home you’ll talk to Bucky. Meanwhile, Bucky had bought a pool, some buckets of artificial snow, some fancy backyard lights, and some snow gear, and hurried back to the house.
Bucky arrived back home just a little bit after you left. He quickly went to put everything in the backyard. Within minutes Bucky was putting everything together, hoping he’d be quick enough to finish on time.
Another hour passed and you had to stop drinking so you could drive home, but before you left you wanted to call Bucky.
So you dialed his number and it went to voicemail, which was weird, so you called again.
“Hey, babe.”
“Hey, doll, having fun?”
“Yeah, I did, I’m about to head home, should I pick up some food?”
“Yes, yeah, could you get the Japanese place on the other side of town?”
“Buck, that’s 40 minutes away.”
“Yeah, no, you’re right, doll, I'm sorry, maybe some pizza?”
“I can do that.”
“Thanks, darlin.”
“Of course, see you soon.”
You hung up the phone, putting it inside your pocket. You said goodbye to your friends and got in your car, ready to order the pizza. Bucky was trying to keep you away from the house for another 30 minutes, which worked. After you thought about it, you decided to just drive to the Japanese place, it was Bucky’s favorite place. So you drove to the other side of town to get Bucky his sushi.
You drove 40 minutes there and it was a lot shorter on the way back home. You pulled in your driveway and got out with the food, locking the doors behind you. You unlocked the front door and you were greeted with an empty living room, kitchen, and dining room.
“Bucky?” You called out, trying to figure out where he was. That's when you saw a light from the backyard. You put the food down and walked to the backdoor, opening it and stepping outside. ‘What are you doing out here?”
Your eyes meet Bucky’s for a moment as he holds out his hand, “I have something to show you.” Bucky led you to the other side of the backyard, then turned on the other lights, ‘Surprise.”
Bucky had filled the huge pool with artificial snow and had snow gear lying against a chair.
“No, you didn’t.”
“I did.” He smiles, watching your face light up. That’s all he wanted to see, was you smiling and happy. You jumped into his arms, kissing his cheeks, forehead, and finally his lips.
“What did I ever do to deserve you, Mr.Barnes?”
Bucky kisses you again, caressing your cheek with his flesh hand, “I think you should go get into your snow now.”
You scramble out of Bucky’s arms so you could put on the gear and get in the snow. You got to the top of the ladder on the pool and fell in, the artificial snow covering you. You jump up, shaking all of it off, ‘are you going to get in? it's not real snow.”
Bucky smiles, putting on a snow jacket, I don’t know if I’ll get in all the way, but we could throw snowballs.”
“How do you even clean this up?”
“I don’t know.”
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Please do not steal, copy or translate my writings, or post them on other sites.
Likes, reblogs, and comments are appreciated :)
Bucky: @qhbr2013 @allforkook @supremethunda @amelia-song-pond @tinylumpiaa @sammypotato67 @weenersoldierr @leyannrae @teebarnes @teti-menchon0604 @mogaruke @instabull @ccosmic-illusion @supraveng
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animationmovieshipps · a day ago
Always and Forever:
Chapter 9:
With no one there for her to distract herself, Luisa soon became impatient, sitting alone at the table with a cloth she placed over it so flies wouldn't fly over the food. Worry and no information of what might have happened, made her anxious, wondering if it wouldn't be better for her to have gone along with everyone else.
At times like that, she wished she had Dolores' gift.
Suddenly, when her gaze lifted from the colorful patterns on the cloth to check if anyone was coming, she was surprised to recognize you, running in the direction of her house.
Confused, but at the same time intrigued, Luisa got up from her chair.
"Anor, what happened-...?" She tried to ask as she noticed the tears welling in your eyes, but her words were replaced by a grunt as you jumped onto her belly and wrapped her in a hug, so tight that if her body wasn't strong and tough as a rock, her ribs would break.
Thinking the worst could've happened, Luisa carefully took you in her arms and hold you back in a not-so-tight hug, in contrast to yours that seemed to hug her as if you were doing it for the last time.
"Are you okay, mi amor? Is it still hurting?" You asked concernedly between sobs, as you brought your hands up to her cheeks and caressed them gently with your thumbs.
She smiled at you, looking at you with loving eyes. You would melt all over if you weren't so worried.
"Don't worry, it's over. I'm fine now." She replied calmly.
"No, I couldn't stop that from happening, I'm really, really, really sorry." You said, still feeling immense guilt over it.
"Why are you apologizing to me? None of this was your fault, you had no way of knowing what was going on while you were at work." She said.
"That's why, I'm your girlfriend, I should protect you from what makes you unhappy too, because when you feel bad, I feel bad too and if I'm not able to protect the person I love the most in the world, I won't..."
You were interrupted when your girlfriend pulled you even closer and shut you up with a kiss soft, short kiss.
"It's not worth it to brood over a bad thing that happened, what's gone is gone."
"I know, but I promise I won't let her do anything to you again." You muttered, as you leaned your forehead against hers.
"Oh cariñito, we both know this is an impossible thing to promise." She said, but showed no sadness, her beautiful face having an expression that blended serenity and happiness. "Just promise that you'll never let me go through a hard time without you, that's enough for me."
"Isn't that what I've been doing for like... Almost 12 years?" You asked with a smile, raising an eyebrow.
"I know that, you silly, I want it to be this way, forever and ever and ever and ever." She replied, squeezing you even more tight in her arms and you heard a crack. You were lucky you had a mother-in-law who made healing food.
"I don't need to promise you to fulfill it. I love you." You mumbled, your likely 15th "I love you" just that day.
"Aw. I love myself too, cosa linda." She replied in a sweet tone of voice.
Realizing what she had said, you snapped out of your passionate enchantment. Unable to hold back a smile, you gave her a light pat on the shoulder, which made her give the loveliest of all laughs. Your heart fluttered each time you listened.
You stayed there, had lunch and had a great time with her and her family as well. Fortunately, everyone looked very happy as if that unpleasant episode had been erased from their memories.
However, that day something happened that you've never done before: You lost track of time and there were only 10 minutes left to go back. You gave Luisa a kiss, said goodbye to everyone and hurriedly went back to work.
Arriving there, your boss was waiting for you at the counter, your smile of happiness slowly faded, as you noticed the angry expression on her face.
"Dona Claudia, I..."
Before you finished explaining what happened to her, she interrupted you.
"Gee, almost late again." She said, in a dry, sarcastic tone of voice. "You have to remember your responsibilities, niña, or you arrive early, or late and arriving late shows immense incompetence." She scolded you, acting as if you had committed some serious crime.
You took a deep breath to try to stay calm, knowing this was one of those days.
"...I'm sorry, I promise it won't happen again." You said softly, with your head down.
"Okay, now go get me some coffee." She ordened, while tossing you some coins, which rolled across the floor.
You had no choice but to obey what she wanted. Now about to live alone, you couldn't lose that job.
That was a really tiring day, but you could make it through until 6pm. However, you waited for her to arrive so you could close the shop, but became restless when she appeared, making you serve people who were relieved to still find the stationery shop open.
When you saw it, she made you work overtime, not even once mentioning that you would get overpaid for it.
"Alright Y/N, today wasn't a good day, but there is nothing that can spoil your night... I hope." You said to yourself as you walked to get your things.
You were surprised when you got there and you already saw the wagon with all the furniture there, arranged to fit in it like it was a puzzle game.
"Looks like someone is late." Luisa joked, before giving you a kiss.
"I know, I'm sorry amor, Doña Claudia made me work overtime today." You explained, not having the courage to tell her about the abuse at your work, because you knew how she'd react. "But come on, I'm here now."
"As you wish." She said with a smile.
You two went along with the wagon to your new home, where you finally opened the front door and saw what it looked like inside for the first time, barely holding back with excitement.
That wasn't the biggest house in the whole city, but you didn't care about any of that, it looked so cute and cozy. You visited all the rooms first and already had in mind how and where each of the furniture would be.
Lucky your super-strength girlfriend was there to help you bring things in, even if it was her day off. You were officially an independent girl, owning your own life and supporting yourself with your own money. You really liked that feeling.
"Yeah, we did a good job here." Luisa said, hands braced on her hips as she looked contentedly around the living room.
You took one of her hands in yours and gave it a quick kiss.
"Thank you so much, for everything." You said, stroking her hand's back with your thumb. 
"For bringing things here? Oh, you know, it's nothing." She replied, looking away shyly.
"No cielo, for everything you've done for me so far. I don't even know how I could ever repay you." You explained, smiled and leaned your head on her arm.
"Why are you thanking me? You've accomplished this all by your own efforts. And you don't know how much I'm proud of you." Luisa replied, a great feeling of happiness washed over you when she said that.
"Yeah, that might be it, but if it weren't for my love for you, I'd never have done any of this, the courage to leave my house so I can be with you, you gave me a temporary ceiling to live and got me my job. So technically, it was thanks to you too" You explained, as you ran your index finger along the path of her arm.
Almost immediately after, you were surprised when she suddenly held you in her lap.  Your arms reflexively wrapped around her shoulders for fear of falling backwards, one of her arms around your back and the other under your legs, as if you were a bride.
"What are you doing?" You asked between amused laughs.
"What I've wanted to do since I first saw this couch." She murmured in a low, deep voice, with her face very close to yours. You saw the fire of passion glean in her eyes, making a red blush spread across your entire face.
Luisa abruptly threw you onto the couch, placing herself on top of you shortly after.
Because she was so tall, she had to be a little lower than you, you always drived wild when you felt her breasts against your belly. You gasped when you felt her hand grip your waist tightly and the other one cupped your cheek, before lowering her head and she pressed her lips against yours.
With no patience to start slow, she kissed you savagely, pushing her tongue inside your mouth and biting your lips every now and then, while you kissed her back trying to keep up with her, which resulted in a lot of sloppy kisses, but still, it felt good.
Until, taking the opportunity of one of the short breaks from her amorous attacks, you lifted your head a little and began to fill her neck with passionate open-mouthed kisses, licking and relishing the salty taste of her skin.
"O-oh, bebita..." She gasped and giggled sofly, surprised at yet another boldness from you.
Over time, your shows of love became more and more violent as you let yourself be carried away by the moment, leaving marks of hickeys and small nibbles on her and being completely enchanted by the small noises of pleasure she made.
After you finished, you watched her look at you with a genuine smile of happiness, before capturing your lips in another kiss. However, unfortunately it didn't last long when you started to hear knocks on your door.
Luisa broke the kiss and gave an annoyed grunt as she dried her mouth with her fingers.
"Who is it supposed to be?" You asked between panting breaths, more curious to know who it was than annoyed by whoever it was, interrupted your make out session.
"I don't know, but they came just in time." Your girlfriend grumbled as she stood up and straightened her messy clothes and hair.
"Hey." You called out to her, causing her to turn to look at you before going to answer the door. "We'll continue later? Okay?"
You winked at her and she gave you a beautiful smile before heading to the door as you sat down and also straightened the mess to looking presentable. 
Luisa opened the door, muttering a low "who is it?", startled to see that it was her family.
"SUPRIIIIIIIIISE!" They shouted happily, each one carrying an unopened bowl of food in their arms.
"We came for dinner, to celebrate her first day at the house." Antonio said, giving little jumps in excitement.
"Unless we came at the wrong time." Camilo provoked Luisa with a suggestive tone of voice, which, even trying not to show it, showed a certain embarrassment.
"N-no, of course not, come in." She replied, giving him a forced smile.
With so many people in the house, you soon felt her surroundings much more cheerful, and you were even happier to see that your father came with them.
"Pa, you came!" You exclaimed, giving him a hug after he placed the bowl he was carrying on the dinner table.
"Of course, do you really think I would miss this important moment in your life?" He said, looking at you lovingly as he cupped your cheeks in his palms.
You gave him a smile and cocked your head to the side, noting how Luisa looked a little uncomfortable, not having the courage to speak to your father again after the day you introduced her as your girlfriend.
Manuel smiled and walked over to her, who, without knowing what to say to him, waved shyly. You had to admit, it was super cute.
"It's okay niña, I'm not like my wife." He assured her in a comforting voice.
Now knowing this, from one second to the next her behavior towards him changed completely, now returning to the way it was before.
"Suegrito!" She exclaimed, as she wrapped him in a bear hug and lifted him off the ground, but your father didn't seem to mind and hugged her back.
All the Madrigals and you were immensely happy to see the two of them interact. Fortunately, nothing went wrong that night. The first dinner at your new house was very special, having so many special people there with you.
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robertschases · 2 days ago
Title: Finding You Gave My Whole World Reason and Rhyme
Ship: Mike x Robert Chase, Mike & Allison Cameron
Words: 581
Description: Chase teases Mike and they pretend to hate it.
Warnings: none
Chase looked at Mike from across the table in the Diagnostics department like a teenager who knows a good piece of gossip. Not quite smug but not quite amused, more like “I know something I shouldn't know.” It was about them, Mike was sure of it. Chase wasn't prone to gossip and Mike downright loathed it. Whatever it was, he wasn't planning on telling anyone else on the team. He didn't say anything, just surreptitiously flashed them the same knowing glance. If Mike didn't love him, they'd have lunged at him from across the table.
They knew if they called him out, the information would be out to the whole team and Mike suspected they didn't want that to happen. Instead, they remained cool and ignored his antics.
Mike figured the whole team could tell Chase was pestering them. They were all fairly observant people. Foreman likely didn't care, and Cameron would ask Mike later, when it was appropriate. House would never ask. If he cared, he'd rather ascertain it than ask directly. Mike hoped he didn't care.
House gave them their directives, and Mike was away from Chase and his glances.
“What was that about?” asked Cameron on the way to perform an EKG.
Mike thought to act clueless but figured there was little purpose in it. “Chase knows something and he's being an annoying pest about it.”
“I got that far. What do you think it is?”
Mike shrugged. “I'll find out sooner or later.”
“Why'd you marry him?”
“Why are you friends with him?” Mike retorted.
Cameron thought about it for a minute. “He's fun to joke around with.”
“Agreed,” Mike said. “But add 'he's really hot’ to that.”
Cameron rolled her eyes, and Mike shoved her playfully.
Sooner, rather than later, Chase and Mike ended up alone together, at lunch.
“Cameron asked what was up with you,” Mike told him, between bites of homemade pasta.
“Yeah, and what did you tell them?” Chase asked.
“I said you were being an annoying pest.”
Chase looked amused. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. Out with it,” Mike demanded.
“Out with what?”
“Cut the bullshit.”
Chase pulled Mike's journal out of the pocket of his lab coat. Mike snatched it out of his hands.
“Just because we're married doesn't mean you get to read my journal, you jerk.”
“I didn't. You left it open on the kitchen table,” Chase said, somewhat indignantly,
“So, what’d you find?” Mike asked.
“Your poem.”
Mike paled. “I don't know what you're talking about.”
“You kept scratching out lines,” he said. “You couldn't find anything to rhyme with my eye color.”
“A lot of things rhyme with grey. May. Say. Hey.”
Chase laughed. “You didn't call them grey.”
“Well, grey isn't poetic!”
“Are you going to admit it? You wrote a poem about me.”
“And what if I did?” Mike asked. Then they conceded, “I know, it's embarrassing.”
“I think this'll be more embarrassing then.”
“What?” Mike asked him.
He leaned into their ear. “I liked it.”
Mike shoved him. “You asshole!”
“You were teasing me all morning just to say you liked my poem!”
“It's not my fault you're fun to tease,” Chase said.
“I'll make you sleep on the couch.”
“It's my bed.”
“It's my couch.”
“Then you sleep on it.”
“I don't know why I said that,” Mike said. “I blame you. You make me flustered.”
Chase smiled at them. “I love you.”
Mike shook their head and rolled their eyes. “I love you too.”
tag list: @cozyships @pucksfictionallovelife @bee-ships @glitched-ships @jellyfish-ships @qsionic (lmk if you want to be added or removed)
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horokoth · a month ago
when the nowhere king said "you made me what i am... but it's okay. i forgive you" to the woman...
uh no it's. literally not her fault. what the fuck dude
#centaurworld tag #like i think that line is what made me think she'd done something worse than she actually had #like in Nothing Good she has the line about the person you love being a monster all along and #i thought she was referring to herself #because she'd betrayed the nowhere king so severely in a tragic situation #BUT LIKE #NO #SHE LITERALLY DID NOTHING WRONG J;KLKSDKLJFS;KLDFJ #AT LEAST NOTHING NEAR AS BAD AS WHAT THE GENERAL DID #HE WAS ALREADY LIKE THAT WHEN SHE TRAPPED HIM IN THERE AND SHE HAD GOOD REASON TO DO SO #HI HELLO DID WE FORGET THE MINOTAURS SIR #SOMETHING TELLS ME THE GENERAL'S MANIPULATION DIDN'T ENTIRELY GO TO HIM IN THE SPLIT #there is so much he could be blaming her for - #1. just being hot in the first place j;klsfkjdsf 2. not doing enough to show she #loved him regardless of species (SHE DID AND SHE DIDNT KNOW THAT WAS A PROBLEM) #3. not doing more to free him from the dungeon (SHE DIDNT KNOW HE WAS IN THERE) #4. not doing more once he was free (IT SEEMED LIKE SHE RISKED A LOT TO DO THAT IN THE FIRST PLACE) #(AND LIKE I CAN'T BLAME HER FOR NEEDING SOME TIME TO PROCESS) #and 5. trapping him in the void (HE WAS DESTROYING THE WORLD WITH HIS MINOTAURS) #i think honestly ngl tbh to be fucking not lying . none of this. is her fault. #it is the general's fault and the nowhere king's fault and as much as i LOVE the idea of #woman being shady and fucking up she literally did not sign up for any of this to happen #her love for elktaur wasn't enough to keep him whole #so why would she think it would do shit for anything he became later? #in hindsight sure! maybe! she could've acted differently! but WHY WOULD SHE HAVE #if you can wage war with ur fucked up little guys u can take some responsibility for it
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absolutesimpforcatra · 2 months ago
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stop whining about your magic being used as a nuclear bomb, and become the villain you've always wanted to be
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thornsnfeathers · a year ago
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Marrow stopping Harriet with his semblance, any minute now
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ctrl-lupin · 4 months ago
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Murasaki taking care of Goemon
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blackcatarts · 7 months ago
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what can i say
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harristops · 5 months ago
Someone sent me an ask about short hair prime daddy Ash and I remembered this moment when Dorsie was bugging Ash and Ash’s response was to swat at her like a fly and then act surprised when the ref blew the whistle as if she wasn’t contributing to the problem.
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afroasiamerican · 6 months ago
im so fucking upset. literally all i wanted was to eat a decent dinner after studying all day long and cleaning and feeling exhausted. my family knows i dislike most fish and theres only 3 left anywyas but four people so i said id eat something else but my stupid fucking dumb sister ate all the indomie I bought which the ONLY reason i had to buy “for my self” was because she kept hiding the ones at home ???? and refusing to share them ???? or only offering me a bite after she used all of them ???? and there wasnt any left but she still ate mine???? turns iut there were two more left but she wouldn’t bother to get them from where she put them 🤠 so while looking for them the corn starch fell out the closet and spilt all over the fucking place and all over my clothes i just put kn and i had to listen to my mom tell me the various ways this was my fault and how i could juat wat what she was making (like 1- there isnt enough 2- i dont WANT fuckinf fish with bone you KNOW how it makes me feel) while i cleaned it up. then my sister came and finally took them out from where she put (hid) them and lmaoooo my mom said i should say thank you. i just wanted a nice dinner. now i cant even be bothered to eat.
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serialreblogger · a year ago
Jon from the Magnus Archives for the character ask game?
character: hate them | don’t really care | like them | LOVE them | THEY ARE MY PRECIOUS
ship with: Martin, ofc, but also i’m honestly SUCH a sucker for jonmartimsasha. polychives is my jam
friendship them with: Melanie King. They’re both so prickly, dedicated to doing their job way harder than they’re supposed to, absolutely zero self-preservation instincts, snarky, fuelled primarily by spite - the list goes on. i just Love the idea of their dynamic as it would have developed if they weren’t trapped in the basement of a horror-tragedy together, yknow?
also!! Gerry Keay. other people have said it better than me but they operate on the same wavelength of wordplay/gallows-humour, and just.. get each other so well? they would have been so powerful together. if gerry had been alive jonah would’ve been dead by season 3, jon wouldn’t have been marked by half the things he was bc gerry would just tell him “yo here’s everything you need to know,” so many people wouldn’t have died for stupid reasons like “eaten by a table” and “caught up in the disaster that followed the destruction of said table,” and i just. want gerry back so badly
general opinions: absolute disaster of a human being. so much self-hatred that he comes across as pompous. absolutely neurodivergent, and i vibe with hyperempathy headcanons (hyperempathy jon/low empathy martin was metioned in a post i saw exactly one time and it will be my true belief forever)
he tries so hard and is genuinely so intelligent but desperately needs a support network to keep him from self-destructing in a well-intentioned effort to keep everyone else safe. his love language is causing problems on purpose (which is probably part of why it’s so distressing for him when he causes problems by accident. jon must do everything RIGHT except for when he deliberately knocks other people’s cups off the counter). jon sims is a bitch and i like him so much
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fataleromeo · a year ago
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Marisol: There’s only so much you can do for her, Xan. She’s got to make her own choices, just like the rest of us. 
Xander: I know. I just worry about her. 
Marisol: I worry too. But she’s a grown woman now, Xander. She’s old enough to be responsible for her own life. 
Xander: Sorry. You’re right. I guess I’ve always felt protective of her.
Marisol: Don’t be sorry, mijo. I’m not asking you to stop feeling that. But please remember that there’s a fine line between protectiveness and interference, huh?
Xander: A line Lily crosses frequently.
Marisol: Which you hate. 
Xander: *sighs* Understood. I just hate to stand by and watch this guy hurt her.
Marisol: Xander. I know you’re concerned, but Mags and Amelia aren’t even worried. They’ve seen him be nothing but sweet to her. They do worry she might be suffering from a bit of depression, which they’re trying to get her to see someone about, but that doesn’t mean Vin is the cause. But. If there’s actual proof he’s hurting her, you know I’ll be more than happy to stand right behind your sister while she storms the fortress and rescues the fair maiden. 
Xander: *laughs* She would too. But, well… We have no proof. Sof is acting differently, but… she says she’s happy. 
Marisol: Exactly. All we can do is keep an extra close eye on her when she lets us and respect her decisions. 
ɮɛɢɨռռɨռɢ | քʀɛʋɨօʊֆ | ռɛӼȶ
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tiredqueertranarchist · 8 months ago
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